UC-NRLF 


MY  BOY 
and 

THE 


fcr 


I 

I 


GENERAL 
LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY    Of 
CALIFORNIA 


ME— 
MY  BOY— 

and— 
THE  BASS 


BY 

RICHARD  SYLVESTER 

of 

GAME  7WD  riSH  PROTECTIVE  ASSOCIATION 
DISTRICT  Or  COLUA\BIA 


Illustrations  bv 
C.  K.  BCRRYMAN 


BOOK  for  the  Bov  and  for  the  rather  of  the  Bcv 


COPYRIGHTED  1915 

BY 
RICHARD  SYLVESTER 


DEDICATION 

These  lessons,  rhymes  and  misfits  were  prompted 
by  experience  within  the  basin  of  the  beautiful 
Potomac  River,  which,  with  its  magnificent  and 
attractive  tributaries,  drains  the  wonderful  Blue  Ridge 
Mountains. 

This   effort   is   dedicated   to   my  piscatorial   friend 

WALTER  S.  H  ARE  AN 
and  his  fellow  associates 

of  the 
Blue  Ridge  Rod  and  Gun  Club: 

Each  and  every  one  of  whom  is  a  hunter  or  a 
•fisherman,  and,  all  of  whom  have  done  much  to 
preserve  the  beauties  of  the  Potomac. 


M844771 


My  Boy  and  the  Bass 


INTRODUCTORY. 

My  son,  according  to  well-known  authorities, 
fishing  with  rod,  hook  and  line  was  first  undertaken 
immediately  following  the  flood.  It  was  common 
pastime  in  the  Trojan  age  and  prevailed  in  the  time 
of  the  Romans. 

Several  hundred  years  ago  the  jointed  rod,  wooden 
reels,  and  home-made  lines  were  used  by  those  devoted 
to  the  art  of  angling.  There  were  not  so  many 
enthusiasts  then  as  now,  our  ancient  friends  having 
among  them  the  humanitarians  who  decried  the 
killing  of  fish.  As  the  world  progressed  and  man 
became  broader  in  his  ideas  and  students  of  the  art 
gave  out  the  virtues  which  it  possessed  in  book  form, 
the  devotes  became  more  numerous.  As  their  number 
increased  and  the  interest  in  angling  became  more 
intense,  it  was  established  that  long  life,  pleasure  and 
skill,  followed  its  indulgence  vand  improvements  in  the 
implements  employed  were  manifest.  In  this  advanced 
age,  when  the  individual  is  inclined  to  live  at  a  rapid 
pace,  endeavoring  to  do  in  a  day  what  was  formerly 
accomplished  in  a  month,  the  exhaustion,  nervous 
depression  and  impaired  condition  physically  which 
follow,  prompt  him  to  seek  for  that  relief  which  will 
rejuvenate.  The  desire  to  shun  the  crowded  city,  to 
drive  away  business  cares,  to  play  wth  nature  in  her 
simplicity,  has,  in  fact,  enlisted  a  mighty  army  of 
anglers.  They  camp  by  the  river,  lake,  or  sea,  and 
include  men,  women  and  children.  The  mother  of 
invention  has  provided  material  alike  for  the  use  of 
those  skilled  in  the  art  and  the  novice  who  "fishes  for 


fun."  Rods  of  many  kinds  are  available,  and  the 
clock-like  mechanism  of  the  modern  reel  makes  some 
of  them  luxuries  to  own.  Experts  provide  fish  hooks 
of  wonderful  strength,  beauty  and  finish.  Lines  are 
braided  from  the  poorest  linen  to  the  costliest  silk, 
and  even  baits  which  would  deceive  the  trained  eye 
are  manufactured. 

If  you  would  grow  up  a  strong,  courageous, 
intelligent,  generous,  honest  man,  I  invite  your  earnest 
attention  to  the  few  simple  lessons  bound  within  this 
little  volume.  They  may  include  some  things  which 
will  afford  you  comfort  to  that  end. 


Isaak  Walton 


DE  CLICKIN'  OB  DE  REEL 

I's  hear'd  de  bullfrog  bellow, 
De  fatty  'possum  squeal, 
But  dat's  no  music  like  unto 
De  clickin'  ob  de  reel. 
Fs  hear'd  de  locus'  singin', 
De  Kildeer's  noisy  peal, 
But  dat  don't  wake  de  heart  up 
Like  de  clickin'  ob  de  reel. 
I's  hea'd  de  farm  bell  ringin' 
De  call  fer  fiel'  han's  meal, 
But  dat  don't  have  no  'traction 
Like  de  clickin'  ob  de  reel. 
I's  hear'd  de  fox  houn  barkin' — 
He'd  scent  de  rabbit's  heel, 
But  dat  wer'  mighty  dullness 
'Gin  de  clickin'  ob  de  reel. 
Is  yer  eber  bin  aboatin' 
In  de  ship  widout  de  keel, 
And  seen  de  rod  abendin' 
To  de  clickin'  ob  de  reel? 
De  trow  dey  call  de  "castin"', 
En  when  dey  strike  ye's  feel 
De  line  she  go  a  sizzin' 
To  de  clickin'  ob  de  reel. 
Ye  begin  ter  wind  'er  in  den 
Wid  all  ye's  nigga  zeal, 
Fer  ye's  like  ter  cotch'd  a  bass 
Wid  de  clickin'  ob  de  reel. 
From  ebery  nook  en  corner, 
Natur's  mel'dies  roun'  me  steal — 
But  non'  ob  dem  ain'  in  it 
Wid  de  clickin'  ob  de  reel. 

RICHARD  SYLVESTER,  1905. 


Clicking  of  the  Reel 


ME,  MY    BOY  AND  THE  BASS. 

THE  upper  Potomac  and  its  tributaries  flow 
through  deep  gorges  and  mountain  passes, 
sandy  and  rock  bottom  alternating.  My  son 
and  I  were  happily  located  near  the  confluence  of 
the  former  river  and  the  Shenandoah.  Rocky  walls 
standing  almost  perpendicular,  with  lofty  layers  and 
rugged  croppings  on  the  surface — all  the  result  o'f 
some  great  convulsion  of  nature,  on  the  faces  of 
which  were  pictured  fantastic  designs  bearing  the 
names  ascribed  to  them  by  the  natives  of  the  locality, 
hemmed  in  the  clear,  swift  and  sparkling  waters  of 
these  two  streams.  The  former  presented  a  dark 
blue  tint  the  color  of  the  sky,  the  latter  a  greenish  hue 
caused  by  the  reflection  of  the  verdure  which  grew 
along  the  upper  mountain  sides.  Innumerable  rocks 
and  boulders  lifted  their  heads  above  the  surface  of 
these  waters,  the  romance  of  the  picture  broken  by 
artificial  dams  and  runways  which  harassed  the  power 
of  the  streams  for  milling  purposes.  Along  in  the 
fifties,  so  the  legend  goes,  a  locomotive  engineer 
transported  several  thousand  small-mouthed  black  bass 
in  the  tank  of  the  engine  tender  to  the  head 
waters  of  the  Potomac,  and  there  gave  them  their 
freedom.  These  multiplied,  increased  in  numbers  to 
thousands  more,  coupled  with  time,  caused  them  to 
develop  not  only  in  size  but  in  extreme  viciousness 
as  well. 

Nowhere  in  the  world  can  there  be  found  a  fish 
which  possesses  the  fighting  qualities,  the  gameness, 

15 


the  brilliant  marking  and  delicious  flavor  of  the 
small-mouthed  black  bass  of  the  Potomac  and  its 
tributaries.  No  such  perfect  development  of  this 
species  has  been  attained  elsewhere  by  those  engaged 
in  the  study  and  propagation  of  fish,  though  one  or 
two  writers  give  the  large-mouthed  black  bass 
credit  for  possessing  the  same  attributes  under  similar 
environments. 

Yearly  the  government  contributes  a  new  supply  of 
miniatures  to  these  rivers  which  have  so  roundly 
proved  and  proclaimed  themselves  as  the  best  adapted 
of  all  others  for  the  propagation  of  the  most  perfect 
specimen  of  fish  for  the  sportsman  and  the  epicure. 

The  small-mouthed  specimens  inhabit  these  upper 
streams,  while  below  the  falls  in  the  Potomac  River, 
on  south  below  Mount  Vernon,  the  large-mouthed 
variety  are  captured  in  great  numbers,  but  they  are 
sluggish  as  compared  with  the  variety  with  the  small 
mouth,  are  not  as  desirable  food,  and  do  not  demand 
that  skilled  attention  of  the  gentleman  who  handles 
the  rod  while  being  taken  into  captivity.  Actual 
experience  prompted  me  to  explain  this  contrast  to  my 
son  and  to  teach  him  the  several  "points  of  the 
compass"  regarding  the  small-mouthed  bass,  that  he 
might  readily  distinguish  the  same.  I  took  occasion 
to  locate  for  him  the  dorsal  fin  on  the  back,  pectoral 
fin  on  the  side,  ventral  fin  at  the  rear  of  the  breast, 
anal  fin  underneath,  the  caudal  fin  at  the  extreme  of 
the  tail,  cheek  behind  the  eye,  snout,  breast,  and  lateral 
line,  and  to  inform  him  of  the  readily  distinguished 
features  in  the  smaller  mouth  of  the  gamiest  species 
— their  characteristics  are  striking;  that  the  small- 
mouthed  is  slender,  the  larger  deeper  through,  a 
heavier  fish  for  its  length;  that  on  the  latter  may  be 

16 


counted  from  sixty-five  to  seventy  scales  along  the 
lateral  line  between  head  and  tail,  while  from  seventy 
to  eighty  are  inclined  in  the  same  distance  on  the 
smaller  subject.  Between  the  dorsal  fin  and  lateral 
line  but  eight  horizontal  lines  of  scales  are  included  in 
the  larger  fish,  eleven  in  the  other.  The  scales  on 
the  breast  of  the  upper  river  fish  are  smaller  than  those 
of  the  lower,  and  the  rays  of  the  spinous  portion  of 
the  dorsal  are  higher  and  more  even  than  on  the 
large-mouthed.  The  small-mouthed  bass  is  not  always 
black,  but  the  color  changes  according  to  the  shade 
of  the  water,  condition  of  the  weather  and  extent  of 
the  field  wherein  the  fish  may  domicile.  I  gave  it  to 
my  son  as  a  fact  that  while  these  things  were  known, 
the  more  the  small-mouthed  bass  was  studied  the  less 
was  known  about  it,  for  no  rules  laid  down  for  finding 
the  fish,  how  and  when  it  will  take  a  bait,  what 
will  be  its  color  and  appearance,  have,  as  a  general 
proposition,  held  good.  Here  is  where  one  may  exert 
his  patience,  science  and  skill  to  ascertain  a  knowledge 
that  no  other  fellow  possesses.  Every  boy  and  man 
will  have  his  own  distinct  experiences,  and  yet 
Benjamin  Franklin  is  attributed  with  having  said  that 
fishing  consists  of  a  rod  and  line  with  a  bait  on  one 
end  and  a  fool  on  the  other. 

THE  FIRST  LESSON. 

The  rising  sun  was  just  breaking  the  outlines  of 
Maryland  Heights,  a  moderate  mountain  breeze  fanned 
the  leaves  of  the  trees  and  the  blades  of  grass  glistened 
with  the  early  morning  dew.  The  hammock  I  occupied 
was  actively  manipulated  by  my  ten  year  old  son, 
who  was  equally  brisk  and  energetic  with  his  tongue 

17 


in  propounding  questions.  While  thus  engaged,  the 
old  wooden  gate,  which  furnished  the  only  entrance 
and  egress  through  a  picket  fence  surrounding  several 
acres  of  lawn,  swung  to  with  a  bang  which  attracted 
our  attention  and  a  handsome  specimen  of  young 
manhood  appeared,  carrying  a  grip  and  bait  bucket 
in  one  hand  and  a  fishing  rod  in  the  other.  He  was 
quick  of  action  and  <wore  a  look  of  pleasant  anticipation, 
a  "new  arrival"  at  our  mountain  inn.  He  nodded  and 
smiled  a  cheerful  "fine  morning/'  and  sought  out 
the  landlord  to  secure  board  and  lodgings.  As  he 
disappeared  my  boy  remarked,  "another  fisherman." 
"Yes,"  said  I,  "and  when  you  see  a  fellow  come 
through  the  gate  with  a  fishing  rod  over  his  shoulder, 
always  remember  there's  something  good  in  him." 
"Why  do  you  say  that,  father,"  came  from  my  son? 
It  would  not  do  to  fail  of  response  to  such  a  question. 
All  boys  ask  them,  and  should  do  so,  for  it  is  in 
that  wise  they  become  informed,  and  the  answers  given 
by  older  persons  should  always  be  accurate,  clear 
and  satisfactory.  Misleading  information  given  to  an 
inquisitive  boy  in  the  earlier  days  may  result  in 
embarrassments,  if  not  discouragement,  later  in  life. 
"Well,"  said  I,  "the  study  of  nature  is  the  primary 
incentive  for  action  in  the  field  of  the  true  fisherman, 
and  when  I  say  fisherman  I  do  not  mean  the  man  who 
plows  the  sea  or  draws  the  stae  to  replenish  the  stalls 
of  the  market  or  fishers  of  men,  but  that  individual 
who  for  pleasure,  recreation  and  general  improvement 
wades  the  mountain  stream,  crosses  fallen  trees, 
scrambles  through  briars,  pulls  a  boat  on  the  open 
river,  investigates  as  to  depth,  clearness  and  temper- 
ature of  water,  predicts  the  weather,  experiments  with 
different  bait,  judges  hooks,  reel  and  rod,  learns  the 

18 


haunts  and  species  of  fish,  their  habits  and  seasons, 
who  believes  and  practices  in  their  propagation  and 
growth  and  who  does  not  endeavor  to  capture  them  all 
at  one  sitting.  The  fisherman  thus  inclined  must  find 
contentment  in  the  music  of  the  water,  joy  in  the 
warbling  of  the  birds,  beauty  in  the  coloring  of  the 
leaves,  grandeur  in  the  rocks,  rest  in  roaming  through 
the  woods,  refreshment  in  the  trickling  spring,  delight 
in  all  about  him.  Trials,  tribulations  and  burdens 
incident  to  the  hours  of  daily  labor  must  be  forgotten. 
His  mind  must  be  in  the  abstract,  the  air  that  he 
breather  pure,  the  food  consumed  be  plain  and  his  bed 
rugged  and  one  whereon  he  must  early  to  rest  and 
early  to  rise.  While  the  average  fisherman  may  not 
embrace  all  these  qualities  or  enjoy  all  these  gratifying 
experiences,  the  majority  of  them  do,  and  if  so,  there 
follows  some  good  in  them.  My  son,  the  tendency  of 
the  age  is  to  excess  in  everything,  but  the  chances 
for  it  in  this  direction  are  fewer  than  in  any  other. 
Athletic  exercise  should  not  be  depreciated,  but  to 
believe  that  padded  pants,  a  wind  bag  and  broken 
collar  bones  are  essential  as  part  and  parcel  of  a  college 
education  cannot  be  argued  to  a  correct  solution.  The 
old  astronomer  teaching  geometry  once  said,  when  the 
pupil  was  in  fault,  "You  may  put  such  ideas  in 
a  basket  and  they  will  all  leak  through."  Golf  is 
commendable  sport,  but  when  contest  for  supremacy 
involves  great  expenditures  of  time,  money  and  wager, 
it  must  in  a  measure  detract  from  the  simplicity  which 
involves  all  the  real  values  in  outjdoor  recreation.  I 
do  not  wish  to  be  misunderstood.  The  game  itself 
is  clean  elevating  and  helpful,  builds  the  physical 
man,  and,  as  a  general  proposition,  the  participants 
are  loth  to  indulge  to  that  extent  which  demoralizes, 

19 


but  it  is  readily  susceptible  of  being  carried  about  the 
circuit  professionally.  Baseball  is  the  American  game, 
but  during  the  past  score  of  years  it  has  been  placed 
on  the  stage  with  all  the  embellishments,  settings 
and  accompanyments  which  draw  large  audiences, 
transform  the  contests  from  friendly  matches  to  money- 
making  affairs  with  high-priced  actors  managed  by 
financial  syndicates.  Men  skilled  in  twirling  the  sphere, 
with  muzzles  to  save  their  noses  and  spiked  shoes  for 
leg  security,  have  reduced  the  sport  to  mechanical 
perfection.  The  aim  of  the  school  boy  who  is  enthusi- 
astic about  the  game  is  to  become  a  professional  tosser. 
As  a  result  the  participant  is  inclined  to  excess,  wagers 
wax  warm,  and  shattered  heads  and  fingers  as  well 
as  bats  become  prominent  features.  Foot-ball  embraces 
all  the  characteristics  which  lead  to  over  indulgence 
and  risk.  I  do  not  mean  in  that  sense  which  detracts 
from  the  moral  standing  of  those  who  make  up  the 
teams,  but  the  rushes  carry  with  them  injuries  which 
at  once  make  the  undertaking  hazardous.  Fractured 
jaws,  legs  and  heads,  demanding  the  attendance  and 
attention  of  corps  of  well-trained  doctors  and  efficient 
nurses  and  comfortable  ambulances  are  interesting 
accompanyments  of  this  delicate  pastime.  The  anxious 
mother  with  a  son  on  the  college  team  is  frequently 
in  evidence.  The  ambitious  boy,  whose  desires  run 
to  foot-ball,  as  a  usual  thing  makes  life  a  burden  for 
those  nearest  and  dearest  to  him,  and  who  are  disposed 
to  the  belief  that  a  diploma  must  depend  upon  his 
ability  to  tackle. 

The  pool  room  should  not  be  reckoned  with  as  a 
proper  place  to  gain  what  some  fathers  believe  are 
accomplishments.  To  be  sure  skill  is  required  to  make 
plays  which  win,  but  it  is  far  better  to  acquire  such 

20 


skill  after  the  boy  has  become  a  man  than  to  expose 
him  to  the  influence  which  predominate  about  the 
average  pool  room  in  our  towns  and  cities.  The 
summer  gardens  and  country  clubs,  with  their  many 
alluring  attractions,  profit  from  the  patronage  of  the 
boys,  but  the  round  table  and  dancing  pavilion  belong 
to  both,  and  the  company  and  amusements  which  charm 
the  patrons  are  not  always  of  the  kind  which  tend  to 
long  life  and  prosperity.  The  boy  in  the  city  has 
opportunities  of  this  kind  which,  it  is  to  be  regretted, 
are  far  too  numerous,  inviting  and  accessible.  Such 
indulgence  does  not  develop  the  mind  or  the  muscle. 
The  world  is  full  of  enticing  pleasures  for  the 
boy  which  should  not  be  fostered  by  his  patronage, 
because  his  body  will  be  dwarfed  and  his  mind  retarded 
thereby.  It  is  the  disposition  of  boys  to  concentrate. 
Association  is  their  natural  bend.  This  should  not 
be  discouraged,  but  when  it  follows  older  heads 
should  throw  around  those  safeguards  which  will 
maintain  the  higher  principles  and  influences.  Nature 
provides  for  these  when  the  boys  would  'a  fishing  go/ 
Now,  my  son,  take  the  grub-pick  and  a  tin  can,  go 
into  the  stable  yard,  raise  an  old  log  or  a  board, 
where  the  ground  is  black  and  moist,  dig  a  couple  of 
dozen  red  angle  worms  and  then  return  and  I  will 
prepare  to  go  with  you  to  the  river." 


21 


Fishing  for  Henry-Small-Mouthed. 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Dat  pick,  dat  spade, 
Dem  he  consult, 
Dat  can,  dat  worm, 
Dem  am  result. 
Dat  rod,  dat  reel, 
Dem  bes'  he  wish, 
Dat  hook,  dat  line, 
Dem  he  did  fish. 
Dat  s-.var,  dat  walk, 
Den  he  did  took, 
Dat  grub,  dat  sleep, 
Wid  ugly  look. 


THE  SECOND  LESSON 

My  son,  it  does  not  add  to  a  fisherman's  luck  or 
ability  if  he  attires  himself  in  a  fishing  suit,  although 
there  are  people  who  will  tell  you  that  clothing  made 
after  the  coloring  of  the  rocks  and  trees  is  not  liable 
to  attract  the  attention  of  the  bass.  The  hunting 
jacket,  with  pockets  for  everything,  facilitates  the 
pleasure,  but  does  not  necessarily  add  to  success.  Those 
who  would,  prefer  knee  breeches  and  stockings,  and 
for  the  feet  have  laced  shoes  with  hobnails  in  the 
soles,  or  cloth-topped  shoes,  which  lace  tightly,  fitted 
with  rubber  soles  to  prevent  slipping.  As  to  head  gear, 
a  cap  or  felt  hat  is  to  be  preferred,  or  for  boat  fishing 
the  best  adapted  is  a  cambric  hat  with  broad  brim, 
green  lined  for  protection  to  the  eyes  and  which  folds 
up  for  the  pocket.  Woolen  goods  should  be  worn  in 
the  shape  of  a  shirt  and  a  belt  is  preferable  to  sus- 
penders, it  allowing  freedom  of  action  and  relief  for 
the  shoulders. 

There  are  many  kinds  of  rods,  and  while  there  are 
those  who  will  tell  you  of  the  wonderful  catches  made 
by  the  plain  country  people  on  common  poles  cut  for 
the  day,  these  fishermen  lose  as  many  bass  as  they 
catch.  The  bass  must  have  some  leeway  and  elasticity 
in  order  to  turn  and  take  the  bait,  therefore  a  rod 
without  guides  and  a  line  to  run  from  a  reel,  is  not 
the  most  desirable.  There  are  many  varieties  of  rods 
manufactured  and  there  are  fishermen  who  are  adepts 
in  their  construction.  The  bamboo  is  most  generally 
used.  It  is  made  short,  long,  stiff  or  elastic,  and  is 
perhaps  the  most  delicate  in  workmanship.  It  is 
usually  made  of  three  joints,  with  a  fourth  or  extra 
tip  for  use  in  case  a  tip  is  broken.  The  lancewood 

26 


rod  is  employed  by  many  fishermen  and  is  similarly 
arranged  as  to  joints,  guides  and  tips  as  the  bamboo. 
These  rods  are  employed  by  experts  as  they  afford  that 
opportunity  for  delicate  work  which  cannot  be  realized 
or  accomplished  by  any  other.  For  shore  fishing  a 
long  rod  is  required,  measuring  from  nine  to  ten  feet, 
while  in  fishing  from  a  boat  a  much  shorter  rod  should 
be  employed.  This  opinion  is  ventured  from  the  stand- 
point of  bait  fishing  for  bass.  The  modern  rod  for 
boat  fishing  is  made  of  steel  with  three  joints,  trumpet 
guides  and  agate  tip.  Its  length  should  not  be  over 
seven  feet  and  great  care  should  be  exercised  in 
observing  that  it  is  of  proper  weight  and  balance  and 
not  too  elastic.  The  steel  rod  should  at  all  times  be 
kept  well  cleaned  and  dry  and  the  joints  be  oiled 
before  and  after  use.  Of  reels  there  are  many  makes 
and  patterns,  skillful  mechanics  exercising  wonderful 
ability  in  the  construction  of  the  parts.  There  are 
reels  in  use  which  possess  the  intricacy  and  delicacy 
of  a  good  watch, — every  part  hand  made,  with  the 
capacity  of  multiplying  many  times  in  taking  or  giving 
out  the  line.  These  reels  have  drags  and  clicks,  some 
on  the  side,  others  in  front,  for  the  purpose  of  regulat- 
ing the  lines  and  giving  alarms.  In  casting  the  line 
from  a  reel,  the  effort  should  be  made  with  the  right 
arm  and  over-running  or  back  wind  of  the  line  should 
be  prevented  by  the  right  thumb.  Every  fisherman  has 
his  own  peculiar  method  of  casting,  however,  and 
practice  alone  will  establish  proficiency, — which  is 
made  up  in  distance  and  accuracy.  Reels  may  be 
bought  for  a  small  price  or  a  high  figure.  A  reel 
should  always  be  kept  in  good  condition  by  rubbing, 
oiling  and  tightening  of  rivets  and  screws.  A  dark 
silk  braided  line,  from  seventv-five  to  one  hundred 


27 


yards  in  length,  is  proper  for  use  in  Potomac  bass 
fishing.  Besides  a  good  rod,  reel  and  line,  an  assort- 
ment of  hooks  should  be  included  in  the  well  equipped 
outfit,  and  there  is  no  question  but  what  a  four  or 
six  foot  leader  gives  live  bait  a  freedom  for  play  which 
adds  to  its  alluring  features.  A  double  nought  hook 
with  dark  snood,  for  spring  and  summer,  and  a  three 
nought  hook  for  fall  fishing  in  the  small-mqtuhed  black 
bass  waters,  are  favorites.  Above  all  things,  next  to 
frequently  replenishing  your  live  bait  with  running 
water,  my  son,  give  close  attention  to  the  care  of 
your  rod,  reel,  line  and!  hooks.  Keep  them  clean  and 
dry  when  not  in  use.  After  a  day's  sport  oil  rods  and 
reels,  and  expose  your  line  from  pillar  to  post  until 
all  moisture  is  gone.  Carry  your  hooks  neatly  arranged 
in  a  pocketbook,  where  they  -will  be  readily  accessible 
and  where  they  may  be  quickly  replaced.  Have  a 
separate  place  for  your  leaders.  In  arranging  your 
rod  for  work  first  join  the  tip  and  second  joint,  being 
careful  to  align  the  guides,  then  join  to  the  butt  or 
handle.  It  is  a  safe  rule  to  carry  your  rod  over  your 
shoulder,  otherwise  you  may  break  your  tips.  See 
to  it  that  you  have  a  stringer  or  two  in  your  pocket, 
and  string  the  fish  through  both  the  lower  and  upper 
lips.  A  pair  of  pincers,  water-proof  box  of  matches, 
thread  and  bottle  of  witch-hazel  are  good  things  to 
carry  on  a  trip.  If  you  carry  bait^  in  a  bucket,  have 
it  so  large  as  to  give  them  plenty  of  room  to  move 
about.  If  helgamite  or  worms  you  use,  a  tin  box  with 
punctured  tight-closing  lid  is  convenient  to  carry  them 
in.  All  these  things  you  have.  Well,  you  are  duly 
prepared  for  business  and  we  will  get  in  a  good  night's 
rest  and  take  an  early  start  for  the  river  in  the 
morning. 

28 


Yon    Can't   Hood    Wink    Me. 


THEY   ARE   BITING. 

Git  dem  tings  a'  ready, 

Fer  we's  gwine  ter  take  er  trip, 

Dey  am  bitin'. 

Be'n  workin'  mighty  ste'dy, 

Ter  cotch  'em  in  der  lip, 

Dey  am  bitin'. 

Ye's  can  take  no  seat, 

All  owin'  to  der  heat, 

Dey  am  bitin'. 

Golly  we  'ill  fetch  'em, 

See  da  how  we  catch  'em, 

Dey  am  bitin'. 

What?  M'SKEETERS! 


v:f/'Ai  ^ 

I  Had  A  Great  Many  Bites — Tumulty. 


ME,   MY   BOY   AND   BAIT. 

MY  SON  returned  in  a  short  time,  his  broad- 
brimmed  straw  sitting  on  the  back  of  his  head. 
The  prespiration  rolled  down  his  rosy  cheeks — 
their  color  somewhat  marred  here  and  there  by  the 
barn-yard  dirt  which  formed  diminutive  puddles  about 
the  dimples  in  his  chin  .where  the  small  rivulets  of 
perspiration  came  in  contact  with  it.  Said  he,  "I've 
got  a  can  of  angle  worms  here,  supposin'  you  wanted 
to  catch  chubs  for  bait."  "Yes,"  said  I,  "worms  are 
good  for  chubs,  but  in  this  latitude  where  the  sun 
shines  warm  and  swift  running  iwater  races  over 
thousands  of  loose  rocks, — you  find  plenty  of  helg^a- 
mites  which  afford  a  better  bait  for  chubs  and  a  very 
good  morsel  for  bass."  My  son  crossed  his  legs  and 
began  a  discussion  of  the  bait  question.  I  had  to 
enter  into  a  full  explanation.  "The  helgjamite,"  I 
explained,  "is  an  insect  varying  in  length  from  a 
quarter  to  three  inches,  with  a  pair  of  pincers  for 
defense-  It  is  made  up  of  a  succession  of  joints 
with  a  rim  or  collar  immediately  back  of  the  head,  and 
a  body  gradually  diminishing  in  size  to  the  tip  of  the 
tail  which  is  pointed.  He  moves  rapidly  upon  small 
crawlers  and  is  very  evasive  of  the  light.  The  proper 
manner  to  handle  the  little  subject  is  to  pick  it  up 
just  back  of  the  head  between  the  thumb  and  the 
forefinger,  and  to  bait  with  it  the  hook  is  passed 
directly  under  the  collar.  The  easiest  way  to  capture 
this  kind  of  bait  is  to  take  a  yard  of  mosquito  netting 

35 


and  sew  either  end  about  a  broom  stick,  the  net 
stretched  between  the  two  sticks,  the  handles  of  the 
latter  serving  as  such.  With  the  net  stretched  the 
full  length,  one  party  places  it  into  shallow  swift 
water  below  a  large  well-planted  rock,  which  a  second 
person  displaces.  The  rapidly  washing  current  conveys 
sand,  mud,  and  helg^amites,  which  usually  rest  under- 
neath the  stone,  into  the  net  which  is  quickly  raised 
and  the  captured  insects  are  taken  from  the  meshes 
to  which  they  adhere.  When  the  weather  is  clear 
and  the  water  warm  the  helgjamite  makes  an  excellent 
bait  for  bass,  but  it  should  always  be  alive  and 
kicking  and  not  allowed  to  remain  on  the  bottom  of  the 
stream,  as  it  will  make  for  the  rocks  or  rubbish  and 
hide  itself  securely.  The  idea  is  to  keep  it  moving 
by  using  a  line  with  a  very  light  sinker,  if  any,  while, 
if  conditions  are  good,  it  can  be  used  for  casting  as 
with  the  fly.  The  best  all-around  live  bait  for  the 
Potomac  bass  is  the  chub,  a  small  scale  fish,  keen  of 
vision,  and  as  wild  and  difficult  to  capture  as  the 
brook  trout.  At  the  shade  of  a  rod  or  shadow  of  a 
moving  figure  the  chub  will  dart  away  or  under  the 
stones.  This  pretty  and  hardy  little  fish  makes  up 
stream  usually  in  the  morning  or  evening  in  shallow, 
rippling,  swift  water,  hence  the  name  "Swift  Water 
Chub."  An  expert  with  a  short  elastic  rod,  thread 
line  with  small  shot  sinker  and  the  most  diminutive 
hook  made,  a  joint  of  hel^amite  or  piece  of  worm 
for  bait,  will  catch  a  dozen  chubs  in  a  short  time. 
Great  caution  must  be  practiced  to  hook  them.  The 
bait  should  be  moved  from  place  to  place,  just  beneath 
the  surface  of  the  swift  rippling  water^ — the  sports- 
man being  quick  to  snag  the  fish  when  it  strikes  at 
the  hook.  The  chub  is  long-lifed  and  very  active, 

36 


and  is  an  excellent  bait  for  bass  at  any  season  of  the 
year.     Minno.ws   are   used  by  most  of  the   Potomac 
River  fisherman  because  they  are  plentiful.    They  are 
usually  caught  with  the  old-time  bow  net,  fed  with 
corn  meal  or  dough,  attached  to  the  end  of  a  long 
pole.    They  do  not  survive  captivity  any  length  of  time 
and  easily  succumb  to  the  piercing  of  the  hook.   When 
used  they  should  be  run  through  the  tail.    The  smelt 
are  taken  in  large  numbers  in  the  lower  Potomac  and 
transported  by  rail  in  buckets  for  bass  fishing.     They 
perish    rapidly,    requiring    frequent    replenishing  of 
water  to  keep  them  from  dying,  although  if  a  piece 
of  ice  is  allowed  to  melt  slowly  an'd  drip  into  a  bucket 
it  tends  to  keep  up  the  supply  of  oxygen  and  maintains 
the  fish  alive.    There  are  buckets  made  with  air  pumps 
attached  for  reviving  this  delicate  bait,  but  they  are 
not  a  general  success.    In  the  fall  of  the  year  the  sand 
toad,  which  comes  forth  in  great  numbers  on  sandy 
bottoms  after  sundown,  makes  an  excellent  bait  for 
the  still  fisherman.     That  is  the  individual  who  sits 
on  a  rock  and  waits  for  a  strike.    The  toad  must  be 
weighted  with  a  sinker  in  order  to  keep  it  beneath 
the  water.    There  are  periods  when  the  river  is  clear 
and  low  and  fly  fishing  may  be  had,  but  opportunities 
for  this  kind  of  sport  are  not  many  and  it  is  not 
readily  taken ^by  the  younger  class  of  fisherman  of 
the    Potomac.      The    man    who    casts    has   generally 
abandoned   the   spoon   with   its   gang   hooks.      It   is 
regarded  as  unfair  and  unsportsmanlike.     The  single 
hook  and  spoon  are  used  to  some  extent.     The  most 
modern  device  invented  by  the  man  who  casts,  is  made 
from  fat  pork,  the  rind  of  the  pork  furnishing  the 
outside  of  a  bait  cut  in  the  shape  of  a  minnow,  the 
eyes  and  fins  being  marked  thereon  in  ink.     A  small 

37 


puncture  is  made  through  that  part  intended  for  the 
head  of  the  bait,  where  the  hook  is  inserted.  This  is 
thrown  with  great  effect  by  the  enthusiastic  wielder 
of  the  rod  and  some  creditable  catches  have  followed 
its  use." 

My  son  listened  attentively  to  what  I  had  to  explain 
regarding  bait  for  the  bass,  which  he  amusingly  said 
reminded  him  of  the  experiences  of  Uncle  Scott 
Lightner,  who  always  had  a  hard  time  getting  bait. 
On  one  occasion  the  latter  had  gone  fishing  with  a 
bucket  of  toads  for  bait.  He  had  waited  and  watched 
the  greater  part  of  a  long  hot  day  for  the  bass  to 
strike,  but  was  not  rewarded  by  any  captures.  Taking 
a  board  from  a  farmer's  fence,  Uncle  Scott  drove 
four  nails  into  it,  to  each  of  which  he  fastened  a 
fish  line  two  feet  long.  On  the  end  of  each  line  he 
tied  a  hook  and  baited  them  separately  with  toads. 
Placing  the  board  thus  prepared  into  his  boat,  he 
pulled  out  into  the  middle  of  the  broad  part  of  the 
river  and  put  it  overboard  to  float  down  stream, 
expecting  surely  that  each  toad-baited  hook  would 
have  a  bass  on  it  when  the  board  had  floated  down 
a  couple  of  miles.  Uncle  Scott  then  proceeded  far 
below  the  point  of  starting  and  waited  until  nearly 
dark,  when,  tired  and  discouraged,  he  rowed  the  boat 
out  to  meet  the  floating  board  .with  its  lines,  hooks 
and  fish.  Instead  of  finding  a  bass  on  each  hook 
as  anticipated,  as  he  approached  the  object  of  his 
genius  he  spied  the  four  little  toads,  with  hooks  and 
lines  attached,  all  sitting  up  on  the  raft  happily  and 
contentedly  floating  down  the  placid  river.  With  the 
light  heart  and  gentle  nature  that  belongs  to  the 
true  fisherman,  Uncle  Scott  laughed  heartily  at  the 
funny  sight  which  met  his  gaze,  and  in  the  face  of 

38 


disappointment  hastily  beat  a  retreat  for  home.  My 
son  wondered  how  it  was  that  so  good  a  fisherman  as 
Uncle  Scott  should  have  forgotten  to  place  sinkers 
on  those  short  lines  to  keep  the  toads  from  taking 
passage  on  the  upper  deck  of  the  plank.  While  the 
boy's  story  ;was  laughable  as  it  was  true,  it  was  not 
half  as  serious  as  another  experience  had  by  Uncle 
Scott  some  weeks  afterwards,  which  my  son  fully 
appreciated.  Uncle  Scott  is  a  charitable,  Christian 
gentleman  and  frequently  enjoys  himself  when 
fishing  at  the  expense  of  others  by  ridiculing  the 
younger  enthusiasts,  so  one  day  the  boys  determined 
to  have  some  real  fun  with  him.  He  started  out  iwith 
rod,  reel,  bucket,  and  a  sandwich,  for  an  afternoon's 
bass  fishing.  After  much  difficult  wading  and  climb- 
ing he  found  himself  on  a  large  rock  in  the  middle  of 
and  when  ready  for  a  bait  picked  up  an  old 
canteen,  which  was  represented  to  contain  a  choice 
selection  of  helgamites.  Uncle  Scott  methodically 
took  off  his  coat  and  hat  and  laid  them  gently  aside 
on  the  rock,  preparing  his  rod  and  line  for  action, 
and  when  ready  for  a  bait  picked  up  the  old  canteen 
to  extract  one  for  his  hook.  He  pulled  out  the  stopper, 
shook  the  vessel  a  minute,  when,  to  his  horror,  an 
army  of  vicious  yellow  jackets  flew  out  of  the  muzzle 
of  the  receptacle,  and  alighting  on  his  head  and  hands 
made  him  dance  to  his  heart's  content  on  that  lone 
rock  in  the  middle  of  the  river.  Though  somewhat 
worn  and  excited,  with  several  respectable  swellings 
as  a  reminder  of  his  experience  with  the  new  bait  the 
boys  had  provided,  he  ha-ha-ed  at  the  practical  joke 
and  carried  it  home  with  him  that  evening  as  the 
most  enjoyable  part  of  the  afternoon's  trip. 


39 


I  Will  Bait   My  Appetite— Stellwagen. 


WAIT  AND  WAIT. 

E'se  guine  down  de  ribber 

To  try  en  git  some  bait 
And  fro  dis  line  o'board, 

En  wait,  en  wait,  en  wait. 
E'se  guine  to  tie  the  boat  loos, 

And  straddle  cros  de  sete, 
Den  fro  de  line  en  hook  out, 

En  wait,  en  wait,  en  wait. 
De  cat  fish,  he  gis  nibble, 

Den  run  at  libely  gait, 
Dis  nigga  den  '11  pull  'em 

En  wait,  en  wait,  en  wait. 
Jis  den  de  line  am  en  dar, 

De  hook  it  hab  no  freight, 
Dat  fish,  he  laf  en  stay  dar, 

En  wait,  en  wait,  en  wait. 
Dis  Nigga's  feelin  bad  den, 

En  go  home  very  straight, 
For  eas'r  ter  get  der  chicken-hen, 

Den  wait,  en  wait,  en  wait. 


43 


PATIENCE  AND  BAIT. 

THE  rising  sun  induced  us  to  move  a  few  feet 
further  under  the  shade  of  the  locust  for  con- 
tinued discussion..  "My  son,  you  take  that  can 
of  worms  and  hide  it  under  the  steps  and  we'll  use 
them  for  catching  chubs  in  the  morning.  The  other 
sun  is  now  high  up  in  the  heavens  and  bass  don't 
bite  well  after  nine  o'clock,  during  August.  We'll 
postpone  going  to  the  river  until  tomorrow,  and 
arrange  our  equipment."  These  words  I  addressed 
to  the  boy  and  they  fell  heavily  upon  his  high  hopes 
and  anticipations.  He  didn't  care  for  the  heat  and  was 
quite  willing  to  test  the  theory  that  the  bass  ceased 
biting  after  a  certain  hour.  He  was  obedient  how- 
ever and  after  depositing  his  can  of  worms  according- 
to  instructions,  returned  to  find  consolation  in  talking 
more  about  bait. 

I  began  to  realize  that  my  son  was  undergoing  a 
disappointment  and  so  proceeded  to  impress  upon  him 
the  fact  that  poor  success  attends  any  undertaking 
incomplete  in  preparation  and  understanding.  That 
as  we  journeyed  through  life  our  way  would  be  made 
rugged  by  greater  or  less  obstacles  and  that  the 
obstructions  would  be  fewer  if  they  were  clearly 
understood  as  we  proceeded.  I  endeavored  to  have 
him  comprehend  that  patience  is  a  great  virtue  which 
is  more  firmly  impressed  by  the  gentle  art  of  fishing 
and  preparing  for  it  than  in  any  other  way.  When 
it  was  explained  that  the  instructions  and  information 

44 


advanced  regarding  bait  was  not  only  intended  in 
that  light  but  also  to  serve  as  a  lesson  in  patience  and 
to  realize  the  monotony  of  the  study,  it  was  happily 
and  fully  appreciated.  It  was  important  too  that  my 
son  should  become  enlightened  as  to  the  truthfulness 
or  falsity  of  fish  stories,  and  to  this  end  I  explained 
that  they  were  generally  told  in  a  spirit  of  fun,  to  be 
accepted  with  many  grains  of  allowance.  That  there 
were  fish  stories  that  were  true  and  fish  stories  that 
were  never  intended  to  be  accepted  as  truth.  That 
they  were  more  generally  repeated  to  kill  time,  to 
add  merriment  and  interest  to  the  sport;  a  harmless 
diversion,  throwing  aside  of  seriousness,  proper  trim- 
mings for  the  recreation  they  always  accompany. 
What  better  antidote  for  "the  blues"  and  melancholy, 
and  what  more  glorious  food  for  tired  and  worn  out 
man  can  there  be  than  a  wholesome,  clean,  interesting, 
fish  story  properly  delivered !  They  should  come  from 
gentlemen,  be  untarnished  wtth  vulgarity,  free  fromj^y 
profanity  and  unaccompanied  by  rudeness. 

On  this  subject  good  Father  Isaac  Walton  said: 
"He  is  not  to  me  a  good  companion,  for  most  of 
his  conceits  were  scripture  jests  or  lascivious  jests; 
for  which  I  count  no  man  witty,  for  the  devil  will  help 
a  man  that  way  inclined  to  the  first ;  and  his  own  cor- 
rupt nature,  which  he  always  carries  with  him,  to  the 
latter;  but  a  companion  that  feasts  the  company  with 
wit  and  mirth  and  leaves  out  the  sin  that  is  usually 
mixed  with  it,  is  the  man,  *  *  *  *  but  for  such  com- 
pany as  we  heard  last  night,  it  infests  others ;  the  very 
boys  will  learn  to  talk  and  swear  as  they  heard  mine 
host  and  another  of  the  company  that  shall  be  nameless. 
I  am  sorry  the  other  is  a  gentleman,  for  less  religion 
will  not  save  their  souls  than  a  beggar's.  I  think 

45 


more  will  be  required  at  the  last  great  day."  Walton 
would  be  seen  in  no  man's  company  twice  he  did  not 
like,  and  he  liked  none  but  such  as  he  believed  were 
honest  and  clean. 

The  bait  subject,  not  being  a  limited  one,  was 
resumed.  MusStes,  cock  roaches,  worms  of  all  kinds, 
branch  minnows,  stone  rollers,  cat  eels  or  wall-eyed 
cats,  small  cat  fish,  sun  fish,  locusts  and  soft  crabs 
were  each  mentioned  an  acceptable  food  to  the  black 
bass.  The  cat  eel  is  a  favorite  in  clear  water  during 
warm  -.weather  and  is  usually  used  after  his  horns  and 
fins  are  clipped.  This  bait  has  a  habit  of  going  to 
the  bottom  of  the  stream  and  often  a  cork,  just 
sufficiently  bouyant  to  keep  him  from  lodging  among 
the  rocks,  is  attached  to  the  snood  a  few  inches  above 
the  hook.  The  soft  crab  is  quartered  after  being 
fresh  killed  and  the  meat  being  stringy  is  frequently 
and  properly  tightly  tied  about  the  hook  with  sewing 
thread.  When  I  spoke  to  my  son  of  cats,  he  laugh- 
ingly remarked  "You  dont'  mean  to  tell  me  that  cats 
— real  cats — are  used  for  bait?  I  made  reply,  "I  can't 
vouch  for  the  story,  but  it  was  told  me.  Tom  Dawson 
was  a  railroad  employe,  and  when  not  braking  on  the 
road  spent  his  hours  on  the  river  fishing.  He  took 
an  early  start  one  morning  and  as  he  was  about  to 
leave  home, — carrying  his  rods,  bucket  and  lunch 
basket,  his  good  wife  remarked,  'Tom,  as  you  are 
going  to  the  river  today,  take  that  small  litter  of 
kittens  our  cat  gave  birth  to  yesterday  and  drown 
them.'  Tom  did  as  requested.  He  carefully  placed 
the  kittens  in  his  pockets  and  proceeded  over  the 
railroad  bridge  and  up  the  tow-path  to  the  island 
for  a  quiet  days  sport.  Arriving  on  the  ground,  he 
located  on  a  rocky  projection  and  in  the  course  of  an 


hour  landed  several  nice  bass,  which  he  placed  upon 
his  stringer.    These  he  caught  with  minnows  for  bait. 
Just  as  he  turned  around  he  spied  two  city  sportsmen 
in  full  regalia,  standing  within  a  few  feet  of  where 
he   was.     The  gentlemen   had  new   rods   and  tackle 
and  in  fact  every  modern  device  for  luring  the  bass, 
but  they  lacked  experience  as  will  be  shown.    One  of 
them  addressed  Tom,  wishing  him  a  'Good  morning, 
what  luck?'  Tom  replied,  'Oh,  not  much,  got  these 
're,'  at  the  same  time  showing  his  string  of  bass.    The 
city  lads  were  charmed  and  ventured  to  ask,  "What 
bait   did  you   use?/     'Kittens/   replied   Tom,   at  the 
same   minute   thinking   of   the   kittens   his   wife   had 
charged   him   to   drown,    and   pulling   one    from    his 
pocket.    Said  he,  see,  these  is  what  I  use/    The  novices 
eyed  each  other  and  then  looked  at  Tom,  perfectly 
dumbfounded.     'You  don't  mean  to  tell  us  you  use 
kittens,  said  the  principal  spokesman,  'Yes/  said  Tom, 
'got  'em  all  on  kittens/    With  this  the  city  lads,  with 
less  enthusiasm  than  they  had  started  out  with,  moved 
on  in  quiet  to  first  try  the  worms  they  had  provided. 
They  had  no   success,  and  after  an   hour's  absence 
returned  and  said,   'Mister,   where  did  you  get  the 
kittens?'    'In  Harpers  Ferry/  said  Tom,  emphasizing 
his  words  by  pulling  up  his  line  and  apparently  placing 
a  kitten  on  the  hook,  which  he  threw  out  into  the 
stream.     'Well  I'll  be  dog  on/  said  one  of  the  unini- 
tiated, and  with  lowered  spirits  the  two  proceeded  to 
Harpers  Ferry,  a  mile  away,  and  enlisted  some  of  the 
small  boys  to  hunt  up  kittens,  for  which  they  rewarded 
them.    What  success  followed  may  be  well  imagined. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  Tom   went  home   with  a  big 
string  of  bass,  he  had  disposed  of  the  kittens,  and 
Mrs.  Dawson  joined  him   in   enjoying  the  practical 

47 


joke  he  had  played  on  the  innocents  from  the  city. 

The  small-mouthed  black  bass,  it  has  been  well 
established,  is  so  ravenous  at  times  that  any  moving 
object  in  the  water  will  tempt  him  to  an  attack.  Many 
instances  are  known  where  the  fish  has  jumped  into 
open  boats,  where  he  has  pursued  a  bait  for  long  dis- 
tances to  make  a  lunge  for  it  close  under  the  oars.  On 
one  occasion,  while  fishing  in  the  Potomac  just  below 
the  mouth  of  the  Monocacy,  at  a  spot  where  the 
branches  of  the  trees  overhanged  the  quiet  waters, 
I  surprised  my  boatman,  George  Walter,  by  landing  a 
pound-and-a-half  fish  from  the  mouth  of  which  pro- 
truded a  tail  which  at  first  sight  looked  like  that  of  a 
rat.  We  were  both  of  us  puzzled  and  proceeded  to 
make  a  close  examination,  and  forced  the  fish  to 
disgorge  a  field  squirrel.  It  was  partially  digested, 
the  acids  of  the  fish's  stomach  having  eaten  away  most 
of  the  hairy  covering  of  the  animal.  There  was 
enough  of  it  intact,  however,  to  enable  us  to  identify 
the  creature,  which  had  evidently  fallen  into  the  river 
from  an  overspreading  tree  and  been  devoured  by  the 
bass.  At  another  time  during  a  visit  to  Shenandoah 
City,  situated  on  the  river  of  the  same  name,  I  captured 
a  bass  with  a  half  swallowed  water  moccasin  protrud- 
from  its  jaws. 

To  more  fully  illustrate  the  savage  propensities  of 
the  fish,  and  to  show  that  he  will  partake  of  its  own 
kind,  a  specimen  may  be  seen  in  the  National  Museum, 
which  was  placed  there  through  the  courtesy  of  Col. 
Richard  J.  Bright,  where  a  small-mouthed  bass  is 
hanging  to  the  hook  while  a  few  inches  above  on 
the  snood  is  a  more  diminutive  specimen  of  the  same 
species,  and  preceeding  that  a  minnow  bait.  The 
Colonel  reasoned  that  the  smaller  bass  had  jumped 


at  the  minnow  and  hanged  itself,  and  that  the  larger 
bass  had  struck  at  the  smaller  bass  and  landed  on  the 
hook.  If  the  Colonel's  theory  is  correct,  there  remains 
no  doubt  but  what  the  species  will  destroy  its  kind, 
and  the  several  experiences  conclusively  establish  the 
fact  that  the  small-mouthed  bass  will  endeavor  to 
capture  anything  alive  that  comes  within  his  reach, — 
even  if  it  chokes  him  to  take  care  of  it.  No  less 
startling  was  the  discovery  made  by  my  boatsman 
Walter,  when,  while  dressing  a  bass,  he  took  from 
its  stomach  the  perfect  shell  of  a  small  turtle,  which 
in  time  the  fish  would  have  disgorged  as  it  is  fully 
capable  of  doing. 


49 


Patience  of  the  Kauffmann  Kind. 


REAL    LIFE. 

He  casts  the  bait, 

He  strikes  the  hook, 

The  distance  well  is  measured, 

He  winds  the  reel, 

He  bends  the  rod, 

The  prize  he  lands  is  treasured. 

He  wades  the  stream, 

He  climbs  the  rocks, 

With  nature's  charms  delighted, 

He  loves  the  flowers, 

He  knows  the  woods, 

All  earthy  cares  are  blighted. 


53 


ME,   MY   SON   AND    UNCLE   SCOTT. 

BEFORE  retiring  my  son  had  carefully  arranged 
his  fishing  clothes  on  a  chair,  while  a  pair  of 
rubber-soled  tennis  shoes  peered  out  from  under- 
neath. The  short  bamboo  rod  with  reel,  line  and 
hook,  the  last  mentioned  hanging  from  a  swivel,  which 
he  was  to  use  on  the  morrow,  stood  up  in  the  corner 
of  his  room  at  such  angle  from  the  pillow  on  which 
he  lay  his  head  as  to  be  the  first  article  to  meet  his 
gaze  on  awakening.  As  a  precaution  against  noise 
which  might  disturb  the  household  at  the  early  hour 
we  proposed  to  go  a  fishing,  he  placed  a  tin  bucket 
close  to  the  foot  of  the  bed  where  he  might  not  fall 
over  it  on  arising. 

The  near-by  barn-yard  rooster  gave  the  break  of 
day  alarm  which  aroused  my  son,  who,  full  of  happy 
anticipations  and  with  that  boyish  energy  which 
follows  undisturbed  rest,  jumped  from  his  couch  and 
fell  over  the  tin  bucket  which  had  been  so  well  placed, 
its  rattling  over  the  bare  floor  arousing  the  sleepers 
throughout  the  house,  including  myself.  This  unin- 
tentional disturbance  caused  us  both  to  giggle  until 
dressed,  when  on  tip-toe  we  gathered  up  rods  and 
sought  the  kitchen,  where  Mary  gave  us  each  a  fried 
egg,  warm  cakes  and  coffee,  together  with  a  pocket 
lunch.  Mary  was  the  colored  cook  who  merrily  wished 
us  "good  luck"  as  we  hastily  and  enthusiastically 
started  on  our  mile  walk  to  the  river.  It  was  down 
hill  and  through  a  street  of  an  old  town  which  had 

54 


stood  the  brunt  of  the  rebellion.  I  answered  innumer- 
able questions,  whistled  broken  melodies  and  hummed 
familiar  tunes,  and  my  boy  did  exactly  as  I  did, 
except  that  he  asked  questions,  didn't  answer  them. 
The  birds  were  chiming  and  flitting  from  cedar  to 
cedar,  and  the  roar  of  the  Shenandoah  River  as  it 
rushed  over  a  bed  broken  with  immense  boulders  added 
to  the  music  of  the  bright  crisp  morning.  At  the  foot 
of  the  trail,  beyond  the  town  limits,  we  came  to  the 
water's  edge  and  underneath  an  overhanging  brush 
pile  we  found  a  bucket  of  bait.  The  bucket  had  been 
placed  there  the  night  before  in  sucli  position  as 
permitted  the  water  to  percolate  through  the  holes 
which  had  been  punctured  in  it.  My  son  opened  the 
tin  bucket  with  which  he  had  awakened  the  family 
that  morning  and  into  it  I  transferred  the  wiggling 
chubs.  This  done  we  proceeded  to  the  dam,  a  half 
mile  away.  There  we  climbed  down  the  stone  wall, 
crossed  over  through  the  willows,  stubbing  a  toe  on 
projecting  rocks  here  and  there  which  tested  my  son's 
endurance  and  capability  to  suppress  bad  words. 
Crossing  over  the  river  on  the  dam,  we  were  joined 
by  an  old  fisherman,  Uncle  Scott  Lightner,  who  ac- 
companied us  along  the  path  which  skirted  the 
mountain  until  we  reached  Bull's  Falls.  Here  our 
companion  waded  out  onto  a  high  rock  which  lifted 
its  head  above  the  swift  raging  water  and  proceeded 
leisurely  to  fish  for  the  small-mouthed  bass,  while 
my  son  and  I  trudged  on  across  an  island  covered 
with  tall  oaks  and  entangling  undergrowth,  until  we 
reached  a  narrow  branch  of  the  river  known  by  the 
mountaineers  as  "Sylvester's  Run."  It  ran  over 
shelving  flat  rocks,  the  water  now  deep  and  the  next 
step  shallow.  We  waded  up  stream.  I  led  the  way 

55 


and  my  son  followed  dragging  his  bait  bucket  through 
the  water  by  a  string.  As  I  proceeded  I  cast  my 
bait  ahead,  and  at  every  throw  nearly  it  would  be 
jumped  at  by  the  bass  that  lay  hidden  behind  the 
ledges  of  the  rocks.  It  was  only  necessary  to  cast 
eight  or  nine  yards  of  line  right,  left  and  to  the 
center.  As  the  bass  were  reeled  in  they  were  run 
onto  the  stringer  which  soon  became  burdensome  for 
my  son  to  carry  and  I  was  compelled  to  relieve  him. 
One  end  I  fastened  to  the  ring  in  my  belt  while  the 
bunch  of  pretty  creatures  would  swim  around  in  my 
wake.  So  ravenous  and  vicious  did  the  fish  become 
that  I  captured  as  many  as  three  on  a  single  bait. 
My  son  laughed  and  halloed  until  the  mountain 
chain  fairly  echoed  with  his  delight.  After  landing 
nine  bass,  I  proceeded  to  instruct  my  son  as  we 
retraced  our  trip  down  the  stream.  The  strikes  were 
less  frequent  of  course,  but  we  picked  up  one  now 
and  then  in  pools  which  we  had  missed  on  our  upward 
trip.  Relieving  my  son  of  the  bait  bucket,  I  cautioned 
him  to  place  his  thumb  on  the  reel  so  as  to  gauge  the 
play  of  line,  and  casting  with  two  hands  he  was 
enabled  to  add  to  our  already  heavy  string.  It  was  a 
pleasure  to  instruct  him.  "Give  your  line  a  slight 
jerk.  Now  you  have  him.  Let  him  play.  Keep 
your  line  taught.  Reel  it  slowly.  Be  careful.  Raise 
your  rod  so  as  to  keep  the  line  tight.  Reel  again, 
Rod  up  a  little.  Now  I'll  get  him."  These  were  some 
of  the  directions.  Then  reaching  down  I  would  get 
the  fish  between  the  gills  and  mouth  with  thumb  and 
forefinger,  dislodge  the  hook  and  string  it.  Said  I  to 
my  son,  "We  have  taken  a  big  catch,  let  us  not  be 
hoggish.  A  man  should  not  continue  to  fish  when  he 
has  enough.  There  is  reason  in  all  things."  Tired 

56 


and  hungry,  we  waded  onto  the  island  and  devoured 
our  pocket  lunches.  We  selected  a  swift  running 
place  to  drink  from,  which  we  did  by  lying  flat  on  our 
stomachs  and  dipping  our  noses  into  the  water.  Our 
bucket  we  emptied,  and  taking  our  reels  and  lines 
from  the  rods,  the  latter  were  unjointed  and  put  in 
their  coverings.  Procuring  a  six  foot  sapling,  the 
string  of  nearly  twenty  pounds  of  fish  we  tied  to  it. 
My  son  took  one  end  of  the  spaling  and  I  the  other,  and 
thus  carrying  our  catch  between  us  we  journeyed 
through  underbrush  under  the  broad  spreading  trees 
across  the  island  in  search  of  our  companion  whom  we 
had  left  on  the  rock  in  the  morning.  Emerging 
through  the  thickly  wooded  highland  with  some  dif- 
ficulty, we  crossed  over  a  deep  fall  on  the  trunk  of 
a  dead  tree  to  reach  the  mammoth  rocks,  which  made 
a  natural  dam  two-thirds  of  the  way  across  t  he 
Shenandoah  River.  Through  crevices  here  and  there 
the  water  rushed  into  the  basins  below  with  the 
appearance  of  a  great  boiling  stream  from  so  many 
hot^ water  pipes.  Doubled  up  on  the  rocks,  his  rod 
resting  on  the  forks  of  a  willow  stick  planted  in  the 
sand,  his  line  set  for  a  bass,  Uncle  Scott  awaited  the 
clicking  of  the  reel.  We  startled  him  by  our  quiet 
and  unheralded  arrival,  only  broken  by  my  son  hallow- 
ing "What  luck?."  Leisurely  he  looked  around  and 
replied,  "Bad  luck,  only  one  fish  and  no  lunch,  'cause 
you  fellows  carried  it  with  you."  So  we  had.  The 
extra  bite  for  our  friend  we  had  carried  off  with 
us  in  the  morning.  When  Uncle  Scott  sighted  the 
fine  string  of  fish  we  carried  he  was  startled.  Though 
not  given  to  excitement  or  enthusiasm  under  any 
conditions,  he  marveled  at  the  catch,  asked  all  kinds 
of  questions,  and  sorrowed  because  he  had  not  gone 

57 


with  us  over  the  island.  Throwing  the  string  into  the 
bubbling  stream  to  keep  the  fish  alive,  we  expressed 
our  regrets  at  his  poor  luck  and  apoligized  for  allowing 
him  to  go  hungry.  We  gave  him  a  left  over  sandwich, 
however,  and  during  the  devouring  thereof  he 
philosophized  to  my  son.  "It  only  goes  to  show  that 
a  man  should  think  twice  before  he  decides  upon  a 
place  to  fish,  and  even  after  that,  in  order  to  be 
successful,  my  son,  there  must  be  some  work  done. 
Like  makin'  a  living,  the  more  pluck,  energy  and 
intelligence  you  put  into  it,  the  better  off  you  will  be. 
Patience  is  a  good  thing,  but  there  are  other  ingre^1 
«iients  such  as  I  named  should  go  with  it.  A  wise 
man,  attired  in  fisherman's  clothes,  was  discovered 
sitting  on  the  bank  of  a  small  muddy  pond  one  day  by 
an  ignorant  colored  boy.  The  man  was  fishing, 
watching  the  movements  of  a  float  which  showed  as  a 
brilliant  buoy  upon  the  dusky  water.  Said  the  boy, 
'Mista,  what  is  yer  got  fer  bait?'  'Patience,'  replied 
the  man,  'En  wha'  is  yer  fishin'  fer?'  the  boy  asked, 
'.Kor  recreation'  came  the  response.  'Ugh!"  grunted 
the  boy,  "pay-chance  may  be  er  good  bait,  but  yer  can't 
ketch  no  recreation  in  dis  yer  pon'  kase  dere's  nothin' 
but  er  tader-poles  en  frogs  in  er  heah!M  Like  me, 
you  see,  my  son,  the  man  had  patience  and  had  the 
judgment  to  select  a  spot  where  he  couldn't  catch 
even  'recreation.'"  Uncle  Scott  had  now  begun  to 
reel  in  his  line  and  my  son  and  I  arranged  our  fish  and 
in  a  few  minutes  we  three  were  plodding  homeward 
along  the  narrow  mountain  trail,  which  was  grown 
over  with  willows  and  high  grass.  We  were  tired  and 
wet,  and  by  the  time  we  recrossed  the  dam  were  quite 
hungry.  Having  to  rest  our  catch  every  now  and 
then  made  our  return  trip  a  slow  one.  My  son  was 

58 


light  hearted  over  the  sport  of  the  day  and  the  bag 
of  beauties  he  could  show  and  talk  about.  Before 
making  the  final  slow  climb  to  our  domicile,  I  took 
occasion  to  remind  him  that  the  true  sportsman  should 
be  charitable,  and  it  would  not  be  becoming  in  him 
to  criticize  Uncle  Scott  before  others  on  his  poor 
luck  fishing.  I  told  him  the  rule  was  to  divide  the 
string  among  the  party,  and  to  speak  of  them  as 
l'Our  fish."  This  instruction  he  followed  out  in  the 
presence  of  his  mother,  sisters,  and  friends  who 
crowded  about  the  front  porch  on  our  return  to  view 
the  specimens  and  to  take  "a  snap  shot"  of  them. 
He  did  not,  however,  in  thoughtless  glee  neglect  to 
•tell  them  all  how  he  had  protected  the  sandwiches 
intended  for  Uncle  Scott  and  as  to  how  the  latter 
went  without  his  lunch. 

Retiring  to  our  room,  wet  shoes,  stockings,  under- 
drawers  and  breeches  were  soon  off  and  swinging 
on  the  porch  in  the  mountain  breeze  to  dry.  This 
move  was  followed  by  cold  sponge  baths  and  clean 
linen,  as  well  as  a  careful  putting  away  of  materials 
and  implements.  Our  good  cook  Mary  prepared  the 
fish  for  our  breakfast  and  after  a  hearty  supper  my 
son  and  I  prepared  for  that  night's  rest  which  should 
follow  a  laborpus  day's  sport.  Our  eyes  closed  to 
the  world  after  going  over  the  details  of  the  trip 
with  Uncle  Scott,  who  finished  a  cigar,  not  forgetting 
the  ridiculous  features,  arid  my  boy  had  his  eye  teeth 
cut  in  bass  fishing.  After  thanking  God  for  bed, 
the  boy  made  a  last  remark  in  slow,  measured,  half- 
distinct  words,  "Fa-ther  to  catch  bass  you've  got  to 
hustle,  haven't  you,  and  so  you  must  do  to  make  a 
success  at  anything."  We  both  of  us  regretted  in  the 
morning  that  we  had  not  seen  the  cook  bleed  the 

59 


fish  the  evening  before  by  cutting  their  gills,  and  at 
not  seeing  her  hang  them  up  one  by  one  on  a  hook, 
cut  them  through  the  skin  around  the  back  of  the 
head,  carve  out  the  dorsal  and  other  fins  and  then  pull 
the  skin  off  with  a  pair  of  pincers.  This  would  have 
been  a  new  lesson  to  each  of  us.  No  less  interesting 
was  the  way  the  old  negress  told  us  how  to  prepare 
and  boil  a  bass,  by  sewing  it  up  tightly  in  a  linen 
cloth,  then  covering  with  water  and  allowing  to  boil 
slowly  in  a  biscuit  pan  on  the  top  of  the  stove. 


60 


RED  ROCK. 

Ise  gwine  down  ter  Red  Rock, 
Wha  de  water's  smoove  en  deep, 
Wha  de  shoa  am  low  en  sandy, 
Wha  de  bluff  am  high  en  steep. 
De  ribber  et  makes  en  da, 
En  runs  er  mighty  ben. 
It's  de  place  dey  call  de  eddy, 
Wha  all  de  colors  blen. 
Hea'  ol  folks  lub  ter  picnic, 
En  sing  de  low  Ian'  songs, 
De  gal  en  beau  dey  pull  da, 
De  place  ter  dem  belongs, 
Bu'  when  de  leaf  am  fallin' 
En  de  fros'  et  glis'en  roun,' 
De  fish'man  he  drop  in  da, 
En  call  et  lucky  groun'. 
Da  de  bass  dey  gedder, 
En  make  er  mighty   flock, 
Ef  wan'ter  know  wha's  fishin', 
Jis  try  de  ol'  Red  Rock. 


61 


BIG   MEN   AND   BIG  FISH. 

AMERICAN  history  is  replete  with  anecdotes  of 
distinguished  men,  who  not  only  cleared  the 
forests,  fought  the  savages,  and  established 
boundary  lines  as  pioneers,  but  who  for  scientific  and 
commercial  purposes  followed  the  trail,  hunted  the 
forests  and  fished  the  streams.  These  citizens  of 
early  and  modern  times  have  contributed  much  to  the 
history  of  our  country  and  the  welfare  of  civilization. 
It  is  a  great  fortune  that  we  enjoy  today  in  being  able 
to  hold  out  to  the  growing  boys  the  example  of  their 
industry,  perseverance,  hardships  and  principles  as 
most  worthy  of  emulation.  It  has  become  firmly 
established  as  a  fact  that  hunting  and  fishing,  the 
study  of  nature  in  mountains,  meadows  and  streams, 
are  prime  factors  contributing  to  the  betterment  and 
years  of  mankind.  Grover  Cleveland,  statesman  and 
citizen,  embodied  those  qualities  of  heart  and  hand 
which  placed  him  in  the  front  rank  of  American 
sportsmen.  He  upheld  the  good  there  was  in  it  and 
was  always  ready  to  condemn  the  wrong.  High- 
minded  and  honorable  in  the  conduct  of  affairs  which 
effected  his  country,  he  was  likewise  forward  in 
protecting  the  interests  of  the  game  and  fish,  and  in 
so  doing  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  long  practical 
experience. 

I  have  hunted  in  the  mountains  of  West  Virginia 
where  the  mountaineers  laid  down  to  that  distin- 
guished sportsman  the  law,  "if  you  miss  your  shot  at 
the  first  deer  which  crosses  your  path,  you  must 
suffer  the  penalty  of  having  your  shirt  torn  into 

62 


strips  and  divided  among  your  colleagues."  The 
penalty,  happily  for  the  distinguished  guest,  was  not 
enforced. 

It  was  Mr.  Cleveland's  pleasure  and  that  of  his  ac- 
companying friends  to  fish  for  small-mouthed  black 
bass  in  the  Potomac  River.  Mr.  Cleveland  made 
several  trips  for  such  sport  upon  that  stream  during 
the  years  he  was  President.  On  one  of  them  he 
encountered  rainy,  inclement  weather,  yet,  true  to  his 
character,  he  stood  up  in  a  boat,  covered  with  a 
rain  coat,  and  cast,  with  rod  and  reel  ,until  satisfied 
that  he  could  catch  no  fish.  Mr.  Cleveland  no  doubt 
encountered  that  disappointment  which  follows  to 
any  devotee  of  the  rod  who  fails  of  success  after  a 
hard  trial  and,  appreciating  what  must  have  been  his 
feelings  while  on  a  trip  to  the  Monocacy  the  day 
following,  I  told  my  son  that  we  would  have  to  catch 
the  President  a  big  bass  because  of  his  ill  luck  the 
day  before. 

The  river  was  clear,  the  wind  calm,  the  water  just 
right  as  to  temperature  and  depth,  and  anticipating 
everything  pleasant  my  boy  and  I  were  boated  up 
that  stream,  which  of  all  others  gets  muddy  the 
quickest  and  clears  the  slowest.  The  day  had  long 
been  spent  and  our  spirits  drooped  like  the  limbs  of 
the  willows  along  the  shore.  I  had  told  Boatman 
Walters  to  take  us  home.  As  we  trolled  along  indif- 
ferently, with  nearly  every  foot  of  line  out,  there  was 
a  splash  and  a  great  commotion,  which  brought  us  to 
realize  that  I  had  struck  a  large  fish.  Such  it  proved 
to  be,  after  ten  minutes  struggle  in  bringing  it  into 
the  boat,  being  without  a  landing  net.  My  boy  was 
proud;  so  was  I,  and  the  boatman  began  to  feel  that 
he  had  earned  his  hire. 

63 


We  reached  the  City  with  our  five  and  a  half  pound 
bass  that  evening  and  my  boy  and  I  had  planned  to 
keep  it  alive  in  a  tub  at  home  all  night,  if  it 
survived  the  train  ride  of  an  hour  and  a  half. 
All  the  fresh  air  possible  was  afforded  it,  and  it  soon 
had  full  vigor  when  turned  under  the  spigot.  The 
water  was  allowed  to  drip  upon  it  all  night  long  and 
to  run  off  proportionately,  so  that  the  bass  was  alive 
in  the  morning.  About  noon  I  sent  a  novice  as  a 
messenger  to  take  the  fish  down  to  the  White  House 
for  Mr.  Cleveland.  When  the  messenger  reached  our 
home  and  discovered  the  enormity  of  the  fish  and  with 
instructions  to  "bring  it  down  alive,"  he  was  at  his 
wits  end  how  to  secure  it.  He  and  the  servant  girl 
worked  for  an  hour  trying  to  catch  the  fish  so  as  to 
lift  it  out  of  the  tub.  As  their  arms  would  extend 
the  fish  would  splash  and  dash  ferociously.  Finally 
it  occurred  to  the  messenger  to  permit  the  water  to 
run  out  of  the  temporary  lake.  This  he  did  and  then 
he  had  no  trouble  to  land  his  fish.  He  brought  it 
to  me  wrapped  in  a  clean  towel,  well  dampened  with 
water  all  in  a  deep  new  straw  basket.  Thus  it  went 
to  Assistant  Secretary  Pruden  at  the  White  House. 
Mr.  Pruden  told  me  he  immediately  proceeded  with 
the  package  to  the  Cabinet  room  where  the  President 
and  his  advisers  were  seated,  and  that  on  entering 
he  remarked,  "Mr.  President,  a  friend  sends  you  a 
fine  bird,"  at  which  the  fish  jumped  out  of  the  basket. 
It  was  captured  and  turned  over  to  the  President's 
driver  with  instructions  to  have  it  knocked  in  the  head 
and  prepared  for  dinner.  My  son's  importance  was 
more  apparent  after  this  catch  than  formerly,  and  I 
suggested  that  if  he  lived  and  did  not  forget  the 
incident  and  Mr.  Cleveland  lived  he  might  pay  him 


a  friendly  call  someday  and  remind  him  of  the  big 
small-moiled  bass  of  the  Monocacy. 

While  President  Cleveland  was  an  adept  in  the 
use  of  the  gun  and  rod,  to  President  Rosevelt,  the 
sportsmen  of  America  pay  high  tribute,  but  this  dis- 
tinguished gentleman  has  given  more  attention  to  the 
shooting  of  large  game  than  to  the  field  and  fishing. 
Not  that  he  is  unfamiliar  with  bird  hunting  and 
fishing,  for  he  is  an  expert  in  all  lines  as  a  sportsman, 
but  as  a  historian  and  scientific  writer,  he  has  found 
in  the  heavier  pursuit  the  necessary  material  for  the 
entertainment  and  enlightenment  of  the  student.  Pos- 
sessing the  superior  accomplishments  of  a  great  hunter, 
he  embodies  those  high  attributes  which  go  for  the 
protection  of  game  and  fish,  forjests,  and  streams. 
Well  equipped  as  a  man  from  every  point  of  view 
his  work  furnishes  a  magnificent  study  for  every 
young  citizen  of  the  Republic.  His  earlier  years  were 
spent  on  a  ranch  in  the  Northwest  and  there  he 
learned  to  master  the  horse  and  the  gun.  The 
saddle  affords  him  the  luxury  of  a  couch  and  the 
bigger  the  game  the  greater  his  delight  to  pursue  it. 
The  last  few  years  have  recorded  him  as  a  "mighty 
hunter"  and  his  admirers  have  found  him  equal  in 
skill  and  Durance  to  any  man  who  ever  followed  the 
trail.  Many  trophies  emphasize  his  wonderful  work 
with  the  rifle,  and  in  bringing  down  big  game  he  has 
always  followed  the  precept  of  giving  his  foe  a  fair 
chance.  History  is  already  replete  with  many  interest- 
ing pages  of  the  work  of  Theodore  Roosevelt,  the 
hunter,  the  student  of  nature,  and  the  boys  of  the 
land  will  profit  by  its  reading.  The  following  fishing 
experience  of  the  President  proves  a  delightful  morsel 
for  any  one: 

65 


George  W.  Powers  and  Franke  E.  McCourt  spent 
their  vacations  on  Long  Island  and  a  fishing  trip 
took  them  to  Oyster  Bay.  They  had  indifferent  luck 
and  little  to  compensate  them  for  their  trouble  in  the 
way  of  incident  or  sport  until  young  Powers  hooked 
a  dogfish. 

Strive  as  both  could,  it  was  beyond  their  efforts  to 
get  the  prize  into  the  boat.  They  exerted  every  means 
within  reach  and  tried  every  expedient  in  vain  and 
were  about  to  give  up  the  task  when  their  trouble 
attracted  the  attention  of  two  men  and  a  woman  in 
a  boat.  ^ 

They  pulled  overrule  boys  and  one  of  the  men, 
encouraging  the  youths  to  hold  on,  coached  them  and 
lent  a  hand,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  big  fish  was 
splashing  and  flundering  in  the  bottom  of  their  boat. 
With  many  thanks  for  the  assistance  given  them  the 
boys  rowed  ashore. 

Afterwards  in  talking  the  incident  over,  it  occurred 
to  young  McCourt  that  the  face  of  the  man  who  had 
assisted  them  was  familiar.  The  broad  smile  that 
showed  the  gleaming  rows  of  teeth,  the  eye-glasses 
and  commanding  figure,  convinced  the  boys  that  their 
unknown  friend  must  be  President  Roosevelt.  Once 
suggested,  they  determined  to  make  conviction  sure 
and  wrote  a  joint  letter  to  Oyster  Bay  asking  Mr. 
Roosevelt  if  their  surmise  was  correct.  In  answer  to 
the  message  this  letter  came  back. 

WHITE  HOUSE,  Oyster  Bay, 

July,  1904. 
Dear  Young  Friends: 

I  am  glad  to  hear  from  you,  and  congratulate  you 
upon  the  fish  you  caught  the  other  day.  I  was  pleased 

66 


we  were  able  to  help  you  with  the  dogfish.    With  best 
wishes,  believe  me, 

Sincerely  yours, 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT. 

To  say,  in  the  President's  favorite  expression,  that 
the  boys  were  "delighted"  at  this  would  but  faintly 
convey  an  idea  of  their  pride  and  pleasure.  Their 
fishing  adventure  was  told  and  retold  scores  of  times 
to  companions  and  friends,  and,  of  course,  the  part 
President  Roosevelt  took  in  it  was  not  lost  in  the 
recounting.  His  personal  message  was  exhibited  in 
triumph  and  the  young  fishermen  were  the  heroes 
of  their  part  of  the  country  in  the  eyes  of  their 
associates,  not  to  mention  their  proud  relatives. 

My  son  and  I  on  several  occasions  after  capturing 
specimens  of  the  small  mouthed  variety  of  bass  were 
afforded  much  pleasure  in  sending  strings  to  the 
President,  and  having  attained  the  proud  distinction  / 
of  having  his  catches  thus  erjpyed  my  boy  feels  that  4»f 
his  exploits  among  the  streams  of  the  mountains  were 
of  the  loftiest  character.  Such  recognition  of  his 
skill  and  industry  made  impressions  upon  him  as  will, 
I  am  sure,  encourage  him  to  continue  to  participate 
in  recreative  pursuits  of  a  kind  that  develope  the 
mind,  muscle  and  morals. 


Grover  Cleveland  Big  Fisherman. 


BOATING  ON  THE  CANAL. 

John  drives  the  mules  from  morn  till  night, 
And  often  later  when  the  moon  is  light, 
His  bed  is  hard  and  his  food  the  same, 
Both  run  short  when  the  power  is  lame. 
John  cracks  the  whip  and  all  things  move, 
That  he's  not  happy  you  can't  disprove, 
No  cares  of  business,  trials  of  state, 
No  fear  of  collision  when  the  ship  is  late. 
John  plods  along  and  pushes  the  mule, 
For  he  has  no  studies  and  knows  no  school, 
The  warble  of  the  birds,  the  crispy  air, 
Give  joy  to  his  heart  and  curls  his  hair. 
It's  his  only  home  and  without  a  mother, 
But  a  sister  fair  gently  turns  the  rudder, 
She  delights  to  respond  to  the  name  of  Sal, 
They  Captain  a  boat  on  the  old  canal. 

The  Chesapeake  and  Ohio  Canal  keeps  company 
with  the  Potomac  River  as  it  winds  it  way  from 
Washington  west  through  the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains 
and  in  its  day  ivas  a  great  transportation  way. 


A 


TROUT  FISHING  IN  UTAH. 

LL  boys  are  interested  in  wholesome  stories 
told  in  a  manner  that  they  can  comprehend. 
The  narrative  should  always  be  keenly  alive 
to  the  subject,  however,  and  select  it  with  a  view  of 
attracting  close  attention,  and  demeanor,  manner 
of  delivery,  and  earnestness  must  be  so  studied  as  to 
be  effectual.  When  a  young  man  my  experiences 
on  the  frontier  afnong  the  Ute  Indians,  were  of  a 
character  that  might  have  been  woven  into  dime 
novels,  but  there  was  much  more  satisfaction  in  giving 
,  them  to  the  boys  first-handed  than  to  have  them 

jl  prepared  with  embejishments  and  devoured  through 

yellow  covers.  They  should  be  told  in  such  a  way  as 
not  to  make  the  boys  want  to  wear  belts,  bowie 
knives  and  revolvers.  It  afforded  me  much  amuse- 
ment to  relate  stories  to  the  boys,  to  be  followed  by 
explanation  of  disasterous  effects  that  would  detract 
from  the  usual  inclinations  to  go  and  do  likewise. 

A  fishing  experience  had  while  going  from  Camp 
Douglass  near  Salt  Lake  City  through  Strawberry 
Valley  to  the  South  was  much  appreciated  by  my 
son,  and  was  re-told  to  him  several  times  in  order 
to  afford  him  the  desired  satisfaction.  Our  party 
on  that  trip  comprised  several  Government  Commis- 
sioners, myself,  and  thirty-five  United  States  soldiers 
as  guard,  under  Lieutenant  Penney.  Two  ambulances 
and  two  military  wagons,  drawn  by  four  mules  each, 
made  up  the  Caravan.  We  had  traveled  through 
Echo  Canyon,  crossed  the  Provo  River,  tipped  over 

72 


our  supplies,  encountered  Indians,  and  had  other 
adventures,  when  from  the  high  mountains  we  looked 
down  upon  the  beautiful  valley  of  Strawberry,  its  face 
broken  by  the  serpentine  windings  of  a  stream  by  the 
same  name.  We  were  told  that  this  stream  was  full 
of  fish  and  that  it  would  furnish  water  for  our  coffee 
and  tired  mules.  When  we  reached  the  low  lands 
early  in  the  afternoon  we  went  into  camp,  and  mem- 
bers of  our  party  sought  to  catch  some  fish  for  the 
evening  meal.  There  were  many  of  them,  but  so  shy 
that  with  all  the  ingenuity  we  could  devise  but  few 
were  caught.  About  this  time  when  our  pleasant 
anticipations  of  a  few  hours  before  began  to  vanish,  a 
hearty  looking  ranchman  appeared  with  a  bucket  full 
and  they  were  quickly  purchased  and  almost  as  soon 
on  the  fire.  The  native  had  repaired  our  shattered 
hopes  and  we  all  wondered  how  he  managed  to  provide 
the  trout  in  such  quantities  after  our  skilled  anglers 
had  failed.  Twenty  years  later  it  was  my  pleasure 
to  meet  the  same  plainsman  who  had  sold  us  the  trout 
by  the  bucket  full  in  Strawberry  Valley.  He  had 
become  a  bond  holder  in  New  York.  Laughingly 
he  related  that  he  had  engaged  his  cow-boys  with 
picks  and  shovels,  to  turn  the  direction  of  the  stream 
which  watered  Strawberry  Valley.  A  point  in  the  / 
stream  had  been  danjed  so  as  to  alter  its  course.  This  tHY 
left  the  old  channel  below  the  dam  barren  of  water 
except  in  pools,  where  the  trout  had  swarmed  in 
great  numbers,  and  from  which  he  had  shoveled  the 
fish  into  the  bucket  which  he  had  brought  to  us.  This  / 

would  be  regarded  as  a  d/stardly  trick  in  these  days     &  / 
and  it  would  have  been  condemned  in  those  no  doubt, 
had  we  then  known  the  truth,  but  we  were  all  awfully 

73 


hungry  and  hundreds  of  miles  from  civilization. 

This  story  of  the  pot  hunter,  while  it  possessed 
rather  a  humorous  side  when  fully  learned,  met  with 
disapproval  by  my  boy,  which  should  be  shared  in  by 
all  modern  sportsmen. 

A  BLUE  RIDGE  SNAKE  STORY. 

It  was  a  night  of  substantial  rest  .  A  brilliant  ball 
of  fire  creeping  over  the  mountain  heights  announced 
the  opening  of  another  charming  day  and  the  ringirg 
of  the  six  o'clock  bell  on  the  village  church  awakened 
us.  This  was  to  be  given  to  reading,  writing  and 
tales  of  the  sport.  An  hour  after  breakfast  found 
our  little  company  beneath  the  accustomed  shade.  The 
seasoned  hammocks  and  trampled  grass  were  occupied 
and  lounged  upon  as  usual.  An  incident  which 
was  given  publicity  the  day  before,  was  related,  and 
it  made  a  pleasant  chapter  for  my  boy  to  add  to  his 
growing  volume.  It  fell  to  my  lot  to  repeat  it  as  it 
had  come  to  me.  Doctor  Harban  a  well- known 
expert  with  the  rod  and  reel  found  entertainment 
in  the  Blue  Ridge  section  of  the  country,  where  he  was 
one  of  a  party  of  several  who  owned  a  pleasant  retreat. 
Their  camp,  which  included  a  rustic  house,  was  located 
near  the  summit  of  the  mountains.  It  was  a  difficult 
road  which  led  up  to  it,  and  the  Doctor  six  months 
before  was  engaged  with  several  native  workmen 
cutting,  filling  and  making  it  passable  for  pedestrian 
and  team.  While  busily  engaged  with  shovel  and  pick, 
a  workman  astonished  the  Doctor  and  others  by  cry- 
ing out,  "There  goes  the  biggest  rattle  snake  I  ever 
saw,  but  he's  gone."  With  this,  the  Doctor  remarked, 
"If  you  come  across  that  snake  again,  you  get  him 

74 


and  bring  him  up  to  the  house  to  me  and  I'll  give 
you  a  five- dollar  bill."  The  good  Doctor  never  for 
a  moment  thought  there  would  be  a  response  to  his 
generous  proffer,  and  the  topic  was  dropped  and  lost 
sight  of,  until,  as  I  have  stated,  six  young  summer 
months  had  passed  away. 

It  was  a  cool,  snappish  evening.  The  air  was  crisp, 
the  owl  hooted  and  the  distant  screech  of  the  B.  &  O. 
locomotive  sounded  shrill  and  clear, — the  only  sound 
of  civilization.  A  party  of  friends  occupied  the  broad 
veranda  of  the  rustic  club  house.  Their  laughing  and 
singing  was  interrupted  suddenly  by  the  approach  of 
a  tall,  long,  lean  individual  attired  in  humble  clothes 
with  pants  in  his  boots,  and  who  carried  a  box  under 
his  arm.  Stepping  from  the  gravel  path  onto  the 
porch  he  said,  "Gemmen,  is  der  docta  hea"  ?  "Doctor 
who,"  was  asked  by  all.  "Doctor  'Bin,"  responded 
the  stranger/  "Doctor  Harban  is  here,"  said  one  of 
the  party,  "Well,  dat's  der  man."  At  this  the  spokes- 
man for  the  party  proceeded  to  find  the  doctor  and  in 
a  few  moments  returned  with  him.  "Well  sir,  what 
will  you  have?  I  am  Doctor  Harban."  "Wall,  doctor 
I  hea'  yer  givin'  five  dollers  fer  rattlers  and  I  brought 
yer  up  a  couple."  "Rattlers,"  remarked  the  Doctor 
with  emphasis,  at  which  time  the  entire  party  of 
associates  and  friends  began  to  beat  a  retreat.  "I 
don't  want  any  rattlers."  "Wall,  I  was  tol'  so  by  der 
man  on  der  road."  Explanations  followed  and  the 
Doctor  compromised  matters  by  remunerating  the 
stranger  for  his  trouble  and  the  further  burden  of 
carrying  the  box  of  snakes  as  far  off  as  he  could 
to  complete  the  job  by  killing  them. 

It  is  useless  to  say,  congratulations  were  in  order 
and  the  doctor  has  never  been  charged  with  having 

75 


acquired  "snakes."  This  is  but  one  of  the  experiences 
a  fisherman  in  the  mountains  is  liable  to  meet  with, 
and  my  son  and  our  company  all  begged  to  be  excused 
from  such  an  introduction. 

I  said  to  my  son  that  there  were  many  unpleasant 
experiences  to  be  encountered  in  every  walk  of  life, 
and  that  they  often  arise  as  if  to  test  the  thought- 
fulness,  ingenuity  and  courage  of  a  man.  Not  that 
encounters  or  meetings  with  snakes  are  frequent,  but 
with  other  subjects,  some  of  them  far  more  disagree- 
able. "Yes,"  said  he,  "snakes  in  the  boots."  "Well 
yes,  "I  responded,  "such  are  known,  and  they  con- 
stitute a  most  dangerous  class,  the  most  undesirable. 
It  is  not  uncommon,  however,  for  the  fisherman  while 
wading  streams  or  prowling  around  rocky  or  rugged 
shores  to  meet  with  reptiles.  On  one  or  two  occasions 
it  befell  my  lot  to  kill  moccasins  and  in  the  foot  hills 
of  the  Blue  Ridge  where  some  of  the  finest  fishing 
places  are  located,  and  the  copperhead  and  other 
venomous  snakes  are  occasionally  encountered.  In 
such  a  meeting  the  sportsman  wearing  low  shoes  is 
somewhat  exposed. 

THE  LOST  WATCH. 

"Difficult  River"  within  those  fields  where  was 
fought  the  war  of  the  Rebellion  is  a  deep,  winding 
stream  which  flows  into  the  Potomac  River.  Here 
my  boy  was  proud  to  fish,  because  it  brought  to  him 
thoughts  of  the  Battle  of  Bull  Run  and  the  defense 
of  Washington.  Many  times  he  would  put  questions 
to  me  regarding  the  scenes  enacted  in  that  vicinity  in 
war  times.  Most  of  the  boys  have  an  interest  in  such 
matters  and  fishing  was  almost  a  secondary  con- 
sideration when  we  would  make  a  trip  to  "Difficult." 


There  was  a  friend  of  ours  who  was  instrumental  in 
stocking  the  stream  with  fish,  and  he  had  many  rough 
experiences  along  "Snake  Den"  and  "Little  Difficult" 
when  he  went  out  on  a  recreation  trip.     On  one  of 
these  tours  he  journeyed  for  miles  through  the  dense 
underbrush,  and  up   and  down  the   foot-hills,   which 
make  up  the  country  through  which  the  stream  I  have 
mentioned  flows.     A  plain  every  day  citizen,  not  an 
expert    fisherman,    but   nevertheless    devoted   to    the 
art,   he   would   relate   with   much   pride   his   travels, 
tribulations  and  pleasures.     On  this  occasion  he  took 
a    vacation    from    his    labors    and    fished    the    creek 
earnestly  with  poor  success.    Not  only  did  he  capture 
few  fish  but  the  morning  following  a  hard  day's  trial, 
a   heavy  gold   watch   which   had  been   worn  by  his 
grandfather    was    missing.      Great    was    Mr.    Hall's 
sorrow  and  chagrin.     To  think  that  a  prize  relic  was 
gone  was  enough  without  giving  thought  to  the  bad 
record  he  would  have  as  a  sportsman,  should  the  tale 
of  the  travel  become  public  property.     It  can  well 
be  imagined  he  was  not  long  in  returning  to  the  scene 
of  his  exploits.     An  early  train,  after  a  short  run, 
landed  him  at  Hunter's  Mills,  and  he  soon  had  all  the 
boys    who    lived    in    the    surrounding   country,    upon 
promise  of  reward,  searching  for  the  missing  watch. 
His  last  trail  along  the  stream  was  still  fresh  in  his 
memory  and  he  earnestly  followed  it  from  start  to 
finish  without  success.     With  sa|d  heart  and  tears  in 
his  eyes  he  proceeded  to  retrace  the  course  he  had 
followed.    The  day  was  nearing  its  close ;  the  warbling 
of  the  birds  had  given  place  to  the  music  of  the  frogs 
and  the  world  to  Mr.  Hall  was  said  and  dreary.     As 
he  carelessly  walked  along  he  peered  into  the  pools 
he  had  crossed  or  fished.     One  of  these  was  several 

77 


feet  in  depth,  and  the  water  as  clear  as  crystal.  A 
mossy  bank  overhung  it.  Stooping  down,  with  a 
stick  he  carried  he  pushed  away  the  brush  and  grass 
which  shaded  the  spot  from  the  bank,  and  a  glistening 
object,  or  bright  rock,  at  the  bottom  of  the  pool 
attracted  his  attention.  He  went  into  the  water  and 
down  as  far  as  it  went  and  picked  up  the  lost  time 
piece.  It  was  uninjured,  that  is,  the  water  had  not 
gotten  into  it.  Great  was  his  joy,  in  fact,  so  great 
that  he  heralded  the  news  of  his  good  fortune  and 
rewarded  those  who  had  joined  him  in  the  search. 
Our  friend  was  not  long  in  seating  himself  to  a  good 
country  supper,  and  he  wears  the  gold  watch  of  his 
grandfather  today  and  points  to  the  incident  of  its 
loss  and  finding  with  great  interest.  This  story  was 
listened  to  with  much  enjoyment  by  my  boy,  who  has 
since  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Mr.  Hall  and  view- 
ing the  watch,  which  for  many  hours  ocupied  a  place  tf 
among  the  fishes. 

THE  UNSUCCESSFUL  HUNT. 
My  boy  was  so  persistent  that  I  ventured  to  relate 
to  his  friends,  who  had  gathered  under  the  usual 
shade,  the  experience  of  a  fishing  and  hunting  party 
that  had  encamped  opposite  Cotoctan  on  the  Potomac 
River  during  the  preceding  autumn.  It  was  under  the 
guidance  of  my  personal  friend,  Mr.  Milton,  who  was 
a  most  generous  host,  and  being  thus  renowned  he 
had  endeavored  to  sustain  that  reputation  by  provid- 
ing every  equipment  for  comfort  and  every  luxury 
in  the  shape  of  provisions.  The  party  numbered  eight 
congenial  souls,  who  at  home  were  engaged  as  Bankers, 
Lawyers,  Florists  and  Merchants.  None  of  them  were 
masters  in  the  use  of  the  rod  and  reel,  and  each 

78 


possessed  a  limited  knowledge  of  fire-arms.  Not- 
withstanding neglected  education  in  this  regard,  they 
were  willing  to  learn  and  partake  of  the  disappoint- 
ments which  might  follow  a  week's  study  in  the  open. 
There  was  no  lack  of  industry  and  wit  in  the  crowd, 
and  attired  in  new  hunting  suits  they  all  worked  hard 
in  unloading  their  equipage  and  supplies  from  the 
local  passenger  train  and  transporting  the  same  across 
the  river  in  boats.  Before  the  sun  had  set  tents  were 
up,  water  was  boiling  and  necessary  camping  imple- 
ments unpacked.  Efforts  to  obtain  fish  for  the  evening 
meal  were  only  partially  successful,  but  after  the  first 
night's  rest  the  fishing  was  renewed  with  better 
results.  At  an  early  hour  of  the  second  day  out  Mr. 
Milton  uncoupled  his  gun,  brushed  up  his  hunting 
suit,  and  announced  that  he  would  proceed  to  bag 
squirrels  enough  for  breakfast.  The  remainder  of  the 
party  busied  themselves  about  the  camp.  After  climb- 
ing over  rocks,  crawling  through  bushes,  looking  up 
into  high  trees  until  his  eyes  were  sore,  the  would-be 
huntsman  became  disappointed  at  finding  no  squirrels 
and  sat  down  on  a  log  to  rest  his  weary  limbs.  While 
thus  engaged  varied  scenes  of  younger  days  flitted 
through  his  mind,  and,  dishearted,  on  the  verge  of 
retracing  his  steps  to  camp,  he  was  approached  by 
three  country  lads.  The  elder  carried  a  dozen  or 
more  squirrels  from  his  belt,  and  as  he  saluted  the 
discouraged  Mr.  Milton,  he  drawled  a  "how  are  ye," 
and  asked  "do  ye  know  them  thar  fellows  in  camp 
down  thar,  end  would  they  buy  eny  squirrels."  No 
more  joyful  notes  could  have  been  wafted  to  the  ears 
of  Mr.  Milton.  Eagerly  he  replied,  "Do  you  want  to 
sell  'em,  "and  how  much  do  you  want?"  A  Dollar 
and  a  quarter  paid  for  the  bunch  and  no  time  was  lost 

79 


in  parting  company  with  the  traders,  But,  said  Mr. 
Milton,  I  must  show  to  my  associates  some  evidence 
of  wear  and  tear  and  expended  energy,  and  let  them 
hear  shots  from  my  gun  ring  out.  This  brilliant 
thought  was  put  into  execution.  He  walked  into  mud 
holes,  besmeared  his  new  suit,  fell  over  logs,  scrambled 
down  short  precipices,  fired  his  gun  off  a  dozen  times, 
and  finally  exhausted  after  a  mile's  tramp,  dropped 
into  camp  apparently  more  dead  than  alive.  Resting 
his  gun  against  a  tree,  he  tossed  the  string  of 
squirrels  onto  the  ground  in  front  of  his  companions 
and  remarked,  "there,  I  have  killed  food  for  the  break- 
fast." Delighted  over  the  apparent  success  and  smiles 
of  Mr.  Milton  all  joined  in  complimenting  him  as  a 
marksman  and  a  hunter.  "Good  boy,"  "Bully  fellow," 
"You  are  no  tenderfoot,"  were  some  of  the  expressions 
freely  given.  The  next  evening  long  after  the  squirrel 
feast  had  been  forgotten,  when  the  whole  company  was 
quietly  partaking  of  supper,  Mr.  Milton  suddenly 
showed  signs  of  great  agitation,  which  was  beginning 
to  alarm  his  associates.  There  was  shouts  of  laughter, 
and  loud  poking  of  fun,  when  a  moment  later,  the 
country  lad  whom  Mr.  Milton  had  bought  the  squir- 
rels of  the  day  before  walked  in  upon  the  scene  and 
remarked  "does  the  man  who  bought  dem  squirrels 
yesterday  want  ter  buy  eny  more  today?"  The  jig 
was  up  and  all  the  congratulations  which  had  been 
showered  upon  Mr.  Milton  a  few  hours  before  were 
withdrawn. 

The  anecdote  amused  the  boys,  but  carried  with  it 
the  moral,  "Be  sure  your  sins  will  find  you  out."  I 
told  my  boy  and  his  companions  that  deception  might 
prevail  in  fishing  and  hunting  for  awhile,  but  the  truth 
would  sooner  or  later  come  to  the  surface  and  embar- 
rassment might  follow. 

80 


What  Ailes  The  Bass. 


A  PLEASANT  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

My  boy  was  an  attentive  listener  and  had  early 
been  instructed  not  to  say  anything  of  anybody  unless 
it  was  something  good.  I  often  told  him  of  the  mag- 
nificent accomplishments  of  would-be  fishermen,  some 
of  whom  he  had  come  in  contact  with  during  our 
rambles.  If  he  heard  of  their  omissions  or  short- 
comings he  would  always  view  them  from  a  charitable 
standpoint  and  remark,  "Well ;  he'll  become  an  expert 
like  me  some  day."  My  own  early  disappointments 
while  being  educated  in  the  p^catorial  art  afforded  him 
much  interest  and  at  times  merriment  when  related  by 
friends  or  myself.  An  original  companion  was  Tom 
Irwin,  who  would  discard  boots  and  socks,  roll  his 
pantaloons  up  to  his  knees  and  wade  pools,  jump  from 
stone  to  stone,  and  stand  on  a  sun-heated  rock  with 
perfect  indifference.  My  legs  were  so  much  softer 
than  his  that  there  were  many  swift  places  in  the 
river  over  which  I  would  jump  after  he  had  given  me 
a  hand,  or  reached  me  the  butt  of  his  rod.  Tom  was 
very  fatherly  and  instructed  and  cared  for  me  as  he 
would  a  son.  When  wading  across  or  through  a  heavy 
and  rapid  volume  of  water  he  was  always  careful  to 
see  that  I  was  not  washed  down,  my  weight  being  only 
about  one  hundred  and  thirty  pounds.  Tom  was  a 
laboring  man,  but  honest,  active  and  fearless,  and 
possessed  the  best  ideas  of  when,  where  and  how 
to  fish  for  small-mouthed  bass.  Now  and  then  he 
would  take  a  day  off  to  accompany  and  instruct  me 
in  the  art.  My  son  was  all  eyes  and  ears  when  I 
told  him  Tom  and  I  had  traveled  over  four  miles 
one  bright  morning  to  try  fishing  at  a  place  called 

83 


"Millville."  There  the  Shenandoah  came  down  over 
several  miles  of  rocks  forming-  a  young  Niagara, 
and  a  race  or  run-way  supplied  abundance  of  water 
to  operate  ^n  old  but  picturesque  flour  mill.  The 
Superintendent  of  the  mill  had  constructed  a  mammoth 
and  substantial  fish  pot  in  connection  with  it,  where 
he  caught  hundreds  of  eels  and  suckers.  It  was  in 
this  direction  we  took  our  way.  When  within  a  mile 
of  the  mill,  the  river  changed  from  a  beautiful  clear 
green  to  an  ugly  yellow  color,  the  result  of  showers 
along  its  upper  course,  and  our  spirits  fell  to  a  very 
low  ebb  over  the  changed  condition.  We  concluded  to 
complete  the  journey  however,  and  after  reaching  the 
mill  found  the  fish  pot  full  of  small  suckers.  There 
were  at  least  two  hundred  of  the  fish  jumping  around 
in  the  wooden  pot.  With  permission  from  the  Super- 
intendent of  the  mill,  big  hearted  James  Gore,  we 
took  out  about  a  hundred  of  the  fish  and  run  them 
on  a  string,  arranged  in  the  order  of  their  size.  The 
neatness  with  which  this  was  done  made  the  fish  look 
attractive.  Then  refreshed  with  a  glass  or  two  of 
good  country  milk  and  a  sandwich,  we  made  the 
return  trip  to  town,  and  the  country  hotel  where 
fifty  guests  assembled  to  gaze  upon  the  mag- 
nificent string  of  "trout,"  as  it  was  given  out, 
that  we  had  captured.  The  string  was  presented  to 
the  proprietor,  who  with  much  promptness  and  hap- 
piness accepted  the  mess.  They  were  cleaned,  soaked 
over-night  in  salt,  and  fried  brown  for  the  breakfast 
of  the  guests,  some  of  whom  to  this  day  delight  in 
referring  to  the  beautiful  trout  and  treat  which  was 
afforded  them  on  that  occasion. 

I  explained  to  my  son  that  the  guests  had  named  the 
fish,  and  while  there  was  a  color  of  deception  in  the 


presentation,  it  was  not  an  unhealthy  meal,  carried  no 
unpleasant  results  with  it,  and  therefore  became  a 
legitimate  fish  offering. 


A  SHORT  SERMON. 

My  son  you  will  find  the  fraternity  of  fishermen 
embraces  the  good,  the  better  and  the  best  of  men  and 
their  influences  tend  to  elevate  and  improve  those  who 
partake  of  its  pleasures,  and  who  are  not  so  good.  A 
recreation  which  is  followed  by  all  classes  and  which 
works  to  the  betterment  and  refinement  of  mankind 
must  be  worth  the  while.  You  will  find  others  who 
decry  the  art  of  fishing,  some  because  they  do  not 
enjoy  it,  those  who  are  ignorant  of  its  pleasures, 
and  a  few  cranks  who  justify  their  non-participation 
because  they  believe  it  cruel.  A  year  or  so  ago  while  on 
a  trip  with  my  friends  Doctor  Henry  Fry  and  Rev.  R. 
H.  McKim,  the  former  a  prominent  surgeon,  the  latter 
a  talented  Divine,  a  railroad  brakesman  remarked  to 
the  Reverend  gentleman  "Do  you  not  think  it  is  wrong 
to  shoot  quail?"  The  good  man  replied  about  as 
follows:  "The  suffering  of  a  bird  when  shot  is 
probably  no  greater  than  that  of  a  fish  when  taken 
out  of  the  vital  element  to  die;  and  if  our  Saviour, 
Jesus  Christ,  gave  his  approval,  as  He  repeatedly  did, 
to  taking  fish  out  of  the  water,  it  is  not  likely  that 
He  would  disapprove  of  killing  birds  that  are  fit  for 
food,  provided  the  destruction  be  not  wanton  or 
excessive." 

This  brief,  but  pointed,  sermon  should  be  read  and 
regarded  by  all  fishermen.  It  means  that  fish  are 
intended  to  be  caught  for  food,  but  not  in  numbers 

85 


more  than  are  necessary.  There  are  men  who  display 
their  destructive  character  and  greed  by  taking  all 
the  fish  they  can  without  regard  to  necessities.  Such  a 
practice  is  reprehensible  and  the  perpetrator  does  not 
deserve  to  be  recognized  as  a  legitimate  sportsman. 
The  individual  who  will  criticize  and  lament  such 
tactics  in  the  presence  of  a  "pot  hunter"  will  soon  bring 
him  to  a  realization  of  the  error  of  his  way  and 
accomplish  his  reform.  If  good  results  do  not  follow, 
such  a  sportsman  should  be  drummed  out  of  the  Camp 
of  the  reputable. 


86 


Harban  Has  Two  of  a  Kind. 


STORIES  OF  LARGE  BASS 

It  matters  not  where  you  go  along  the  Potomac 
River  and  its  tributaries  you  will  meet  some  one 
who  has  captured  "the  largest  bass  that  was  ever 
seen."  Those  who  come  home  with  fish  will  often 
tell  you  how  the  biggest  one  got  away.  Some  times 
their  stories  are  true,  not  as  many  of  them  perhaps 
as  are  those  told  by  the  class  I  first  mentioned.  Old 
settlers  who  have  lived  and  boated  along  the  river 
delight  in  rehearsing  early  experiences,  and  while 
some  of  them  repeat  their  tales  so  often  that  the  fish 
grow  to  enormous  size,  they  must  have  occasionally 
come  in  contact  with  enormous  bass.  George  Walters, 
at  the  Monocacy,  told  me  about  fishing  off  the 
Aqueduct  which  crosses  the  river  near  his  home,  and 
of  having  caught  bass  weighing  five  and  six  pounds, 
and  hoisting  them  with  hook  and  line  twenty  and  thirty 
feet  in  order  to  land  them. 

John  Miller,  the  Newspaper  correspondent,  took  in 
one  which  broke  the  heavy  rope  with  which  he  had 
the  fish  tied  to  the  rear  of  his  boat,  and  the  bass  is 
estimated  to  have  weighted  over  six  pounds. 

A  year  ago,  in  the  month  of  October,  the  writer, 
while  fishing  near  the  Red  Rock,  landed  one  which 
weighed  exactly  six  pounds.  The  fish  did  not  take 
the  bait  ferociously  but  gently,  then  began  to  "walk 
off  with  the  line.  That  was  reeled  in  and  then  relaxed 
as  the  fish  began  to  make  frantic  efforts  to  haul  the 
boat  from  its  anchor.  By  degrees  the  mighty  specimen 
was  drawn  nearer  the  boat  and  finally  Mr.  Walters 
was  enabled  to  place  the  landing  net  under  the  fish 
and  hoist  him  into  the  boat.  That  was  the  largest 
fish  of  the  small-mouthed  variety  that  was  caught 

89 


during  the  season,  but  thejiextjiay  William  Locraft, 
not  to  be  outdone,  while  fishing  near  the  same  place, 
secured  one  which  weighed  six  and  a  half  pounds. 
After  placing  it  on  view  for  several  days  he  had  a  cast 
made  of  the  giant  specimen,  which  has  since  been 
colored,  and  which  now  adorns  the  National  Museum 
as  an  exhibit. 

H.  Joseph  Hunter,  who  enjoys  an  enviable  reputa- 
tion as  a  fis^man,  tells  how  he  lost  a  big  one.  The 
water  was  in  good  condition,  and  with  his  family 
boatman,  Charley,  he  ploughed  along  over  his  favorite 
water.  He  had  caught  sixteen  bass  that  weighed  one 
to  four  pounds,  when  the  espied  a  sunken  log.  It  was 
about  six  inches  under  the  water,  which  was  four  feet 
deep  with  a  muddy  bottom.  "Hold  up  Charley,"  he 
said,  "I  see  a  log  and  a  good  one  must  be  at  home." 
Dear  Charley,  always  on  the  alert,  brought  the  boat 
to  a  standstill.  They  were  about  one  hundred  and 
forty  feet  from  the  spot,  just  the  right  distance.  He 
reeled  in  and  examined  his  artificial  bait,  made  of 
fat  pork,  in  imitation  of  a  minnow,  called  by  him 
the  "Zulu  Queen"  and  found  it  in  perfect  condition. 
"Well !"  as  he  Statesjto  sooner  had  it  struck  the  water 
when  the  biggest  swirl  you  ever  saw  was  made.  I 
exclaimed, "Charley,  he  is  at  homeland  at  once  struck, 
and  then  a  terrible  lunge  was  made.  My  game  not 
being  able  to  reach  the  log,  started  up  in  the  air,  and 
went  higher  than  any  sycamore  on  the  Potomac. 
When  it  came  down,  off  down  the  river  it  starfed, 
and  went  through  the  water  so  fast  that  the  suction 
drew  the  mud  from  the  bottom  of  the  river  and  made 
it  so  muddy  jhat  fishing  was  broken  up  for  ten  days. 
This  is  the  last  I  ever  saw  of  him,  but  Charley  said 
he  would  have  weighed  as  many  pounds  as  he  went 

90 


feet  in  the  air.  Charley  and  I  just  looked  at  each 
other  with  amusement.  I  finally  exclaimed,  we'll 
try  it  again,  as  there  is  a  larger  bass  in  the  Potomac 
than  has  ever  been  caught." 

Mr.  John  M.  Kenyon,  of  Toledo,  Ohio,  informs  me 
that  in  1883  he  caught  a  bass  which  was  the  largest 
small-mouthed  specimen  he  ever  saw.  It  weighed 
seven  pounds  and  two  ounces,  and  was  twenty-three 
and  three-quarters  inches  long.  He  had  been  a  per- 
sistent fisherman,  and  uses  the  same  rod  for  bait  and 
fly  casting,  a  nine  and  half  foot,  six-  ounce  bamboo. 
In  bait  casting  he  uses  the  same  leader  without  sinker 
and  cast  as  with  a  fly  only  with  slower  motion. 

A.  F.  Dressel,  of  Baltimore,  Md.,  an  expert  with  rod 
and  reel,  some  years  ago  took  a  small-mouthed  bass 
from  the  Potomac  River,  between  Knoxville  and 
Brunswick,  which  weighed  seven  pounds  and  one  six- 
teenth ounce. 

THE  PICTURE  IN  THE  WA/VE. 

There  are  few  fishermen  who  do  not  witness  at 
one  time  or  another  movements  of  the  bass  which 
would  induce  the  belief  that  they  possess  the  senses 
which  belong  to  the  human  being.  When  the  rivers 
are  clear  and  the  wind  down  the  bass  are  frequently 
seen  listlessly  running  about,  and  if  a  bait  is  thrown 
almost  within  their  mouths  it  will  be  avoided.  Such 
inaction  may  be  observed  during  the  spawning  season, 
or  when  the  water  is  very  warm  during  a  heated 
period.  The  fish  have  at  other  times  been  noticed 
racing  to  overtake  a  minnow  or  in  making  warfare 
upon  the  small  minnows  along  the  shore.  Not  infre- 
quently does  he  jump  into  the  open  in  an  attempt  to 

91 


capture  a  fly  or  bug  which  may  be  struggling  on  the 
surface  of  the  river. 

These  movements  furnish  food  for  study  and  should 
be  noted  by  the  boy  who  wants  to  learn  all  he  can 
concerning  the  creatures.  Of  the  many  instances  which 
interested  my  boy  and  I,  one  occurred  in  the  Potomac 
near  the  Monocacy  River  an  evening  in  July,  which 
would  have  made  a  picture  for  an  artist,  and  which 
will  never  be  forgotten  by  either  of  us.  The  sun 
had  gone  down  and  our  boatman  was  slowly  pulling 
us  in  the  direction  of  home.  We  were  moving  up 
stream  and  I  had  run  out  about  fifty  yards  of  line 
with  a  live  bait  at  the  end.  The  boat  crossed  a 
ripple,  about  the  middle  of  which  was  a  continual 
wave  with  a  high  crest,  which,  after  we  had  passed 
over,  appeared  like  a  sheet  of  glass  rising  from  the 
surface  of  the  water.  My  trolling  bait,  at  the  end  of 
a  modernately  slack-line,  reachefd  the  wave  and  was 
lifted  up  into  it  so  that  we  could  distinctly  observe  the 
chub  as  if  in  the  middle  of  a  glass  in  a  frame,  the 
bait  parallel  with  the  surface  of  the  river.  At  that 
instant  a  one- pound,  small-mouthed  bass  attacked  the 
chub,  face  to  face  with  it,  and  hung  to  the  hook.  The 
whole  picture  of  the  floating  bait  and  bass,  one  after 
the  other,  was  clearly  and  distinctly  portrayed  as  if 
behind  a  glass  on  the  wall.  It  was  over  in  a  moment, 
but  it  could  have  been  snapped  by  a  camera  had  it 
been  anticipated.  It  was  a  most  remarkable  and 
inspiring  presentation,  and  my  old  boatman,  George 
Walters,  never  forgets  to  relate  the  incident  to 
interest  willing  listeners.  The  "Picture  in  the  Wave," 
as  we  named  it,  was  worth  all  the  fish  we  had  caught 
and  its  like  will  never  be  seen  again. 


92 


THE  NET  WITH  NO  BOTTOM. 
JOHN  AND  THE  LAWYER. 

On  one  occasion  T.  Walter  Fowler  and  several 
gentlemen  were  fishing  and  the  elder  of  them  was 
desirous  of  trying  one  of  his  inventions  in  the  form 
of  a  net  for  keeping  fish  alive.  This  net  was  of  tubular 
form  and  about  three  feet  long,  with  a  draw  string  at 
the  bottom  and  a  wide  mouth  held  open  by  a  ring. 
The  catch  that  day  was  above  the  average  and  some 
good  fish  were  taken;  and  as  soon  as  removed  from 
the  hook  the  fish  were  dropped  into  the  open  mouth 
of  the  net,  which  was  hung  over  the  side  of  the  boat 
and  was  all  submerged  except  the  upper  end.  When 
the  day's  sport  was  over  and  the  boat  put  to  shore, 
the  net  was  lifted  from  the  water  when  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  both  men  not  a  fish  was  to  be  found.  The 
explanation  for  this  was  apparent  when  it  was  found 
that  the  old  gentleman  had  forgotten  to  close  the  lower 
end  of  his  trap  net  when  he  put  it  overboard,  and 
censequently  as  he  put  his  fish  into  the  top  end  they 
at  once  passed  out  at  the  bottom;  and  it  is  still  a 
mooted  question  whether  the  fish  caught  that  day 
represented  a  number  of  fish,  or  the  same  fish  caught 
a  number  of  times.  What  was  said  when  the  empty 
net  was  lifted  from  the  water  was  more  forcible  than 
delicate  and  should  not  be  repeated. 

The  trials  of  a  fisherman  are  many  and  varied, 
and  was  it  not  for  the  particular  pleasure  of  antici- 
pation" the  sport  would  lose  some  of  its  most  ardent 
admirers.  Then  again  it  is  often  the  case  that  the 
trials  do  not  come  singly.  An  instance  of  this  is 
well  remembered  by  a  party  of  adherents  of  Izaak 

93 


Walton,  who  went  out  for  a  few  days  sport  to  Goose 
Creek,  Va.  Profiting  by  pervious  experience,  it  was 
determined  by  two  of  the  party  to  take  along  with 
them  a  supply  of  live  bait,  and  accordingly  a  large 
crated  shipping  can  was  obtained,  likewise  a  liberal 
supply  of  smelt;  and  after  much  care  and  the  loss  of 
many  fish  the  party  finally  arrived  at  the  little  country 
station  and  "Devery"  like  promptly  patronized  a 
pump,  for  fresh  water  for  the  bait  still  remaining  alive. 
A  springless  farm  wagon  was  soon  engaged  for  the 
five  mile  trip  across  the  country,  over  rough  roads 
and  through  thick  woods.  Progress  was  slow  and 
painful,  but  after  the  shipping  can  had  bursted  one 
of  its  seams  by  the  pressure  of  water  and  the  severe 
jolting  which  it  received,  and  after  the  transfer  of 
the  smelt  to  a  milk  can  obtained  from  a  friendly 
farmer  along  the  way,  and  the  overturning  of  this  can 
and  the  spilling  of  the  bait  and  the  picking  up  of  the 
same  from  the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  the  tried  and 
somewhat  disheartened  party  finally  reached  Uncle 
Henry's  comfortable  farm  house  and,  after  depositing 
the  remaining  live  bait  in  a  live  box  in  the  river, 
were  soon  ready  for  supper.  The  next  day  two  of 
the  party,  a  Doctor  and  a  Lawyer,  concluded  to  "lay 
off"  for  the  day  while  the  others  tried  their  luck. 
The  Doctor  had  brought  his  personal  supply  of  bait 
in  his  bucket  and  had  sunken  it  from  the  stern  of  a 
boat  at  the  river  landing,  and  with  a  satisfied  calmly 
air,  though  somewhat  impatiently,  waited  for  the 
coming  of  next  day  when  he  would  "try  his  luck." 
As  time  dragged  somewhat  slowly  for  the  two  good 
sportsmen,  it  was  suggested  by  the  lawyer  late  in  the 
afternoon,  that  they  stroll  down  to  the  river  to  await 
the  return  of  those  who  had  gone  out  to  fish,  a 

94 


suggestion  which  the  Doctor  readily  assented  to.  After 
a  short  walk  the  boat  landing  was  reached,  when, 
much  to  the  dismay  of  the  Doctor  who  had  tied  his 
bucket  of  bait  to  a  boat  and  sunken  it  in  the  stream, 
the  discovery  was  made  that  boat  and  bait  were  both 
missing.  No  greater  misfortune  could  have  occurred, 
for  the  prospect  of  starting  fishing  the  next  morning 
without  a  supply  of  bait  was  not  a  pleasing  one, 
especially  when  all  "the  other  fellows"  were  well 
supplied  with  this  important  and  necessary  adjunct 
of  a  fishing  trip.  Prompt  and  vigorous  search  was 
made  for  the  missing  boat  and  bucket  of  bait,  but 
no  trace  of  either  could  be  found;  and  neither  of  the 
returning  fisherman,  who  had  spent  the  day  on  thfe 
water,  could  give  any  clue  or  offer  any  balm  to  the 
unfortunate  Doctor,  but  with  that  generosity  which 
is  a  part  of  the  stock  in  trade  of  a  true  sportsman, 
it  was  arranged  that  some  of  the  others  would  give 
the  Doctor  a  supply  of  bait  to  start  out  with  the 
following  morning.  Upon  the  return  of  the  party 
at  twilight  to  the  farm  house  a  report  was  made  of 
the  missing  boat  and  bucket  of  bait,  and  many  theories 
were  advanced  as  to  their  disappearance.  There  was 
employed  on  the  farm  for  various  light  chores  a 
diminutive  negro,  of  about  ten  years  of  age,  by  the 
name  of  John.  After  inquiry  it  developed  that  John 
and  a  stable  companion,  somewhat  his  senior,  had  been 
allowed  a  few  hours  off  that  Sunday  afternoon  and 
had  concluded  to  take  a  spin  on  the  river.  When 
this  fact  was  made  known  suspicion  naturally  rested 
upon  John  and  his  companion,  and  to  ascertain  what 
had  become  of  the  boat  and  bait,  the  lawyer  member 
of  the  party  took  John  in  charge  and  subjected  him  to 
a  rigid  cross  examination.  John  first  denied  any 

95 


knowledge  of  the  boat,  but  upon  a  threat  to  take  him 
to  Leesburg  and  put  him  in  the  lock-up  he  weakened 
and  tearfully  admitted  that  his  companion  had  removed 
the  bucket  of  bait  from  the  boat  and  had  hidden  it  in 
the  bushes  on  the  shore  near  the  landing,  intending 
to  call  for  it  later.  Further  cross  examination  failed 
to  weaken  John's  former  statement,  so  the  matter 
was  considered  explained ;  and  upon  request  that  John 
go  with  the  Doctor  to  where  the  bucket  was  hidden, 
the  two  set  out  for  the  river  with  a  lantern  to  light 
their  path,  it  being  now  after  dark.  Upon  arriving 
at  the  River  bank  John  pointed  out  the  place  where 
the  bucket  was  hidden,  but  upon  search  no  bucket  was 
found,  and  the  two  returned  to  the  farm  house  with 
negative  results.  John  was  again  taken  in  hand  by 
the  lawyer  and  further  questioned,  and  he  was  taken 
to  the  barn  yard  and  told  to  get  in  a  buggy  already 
there  with  the  horse  hitched,  as  he  must  go  to  Lees- 
burg  and  be  jailed.  Here  in  the  stillness  of  the  night 
and  away  from  all  others,  John  began  to  weep  and 
finally  confessed  that  his  companion  in  the  boat  had 
taken  up  the  bucket  of  bait  and  hauled  it  far  out  into 
the  stream,  and  then  pushed  the  boat  adrift  and  made 
for  parts  unknown.  This  was  the  most  likely  tale  and 
was  accepted  as  a  fact  and  John  was  threatened  with 
all  sorts  of  dire  things  and  sent  to  bed.  The  next 
day  the  Doctor  had  to  depend  on  the  generosity  of 
his  other  friends  for  bait  and  all  hope  of  recovery  of 
boat  and  bait  was  given  up.  However,  the  farmer  not 
wishing  to  lose  his  boat  started  out  the  following 
morning  for  a  search  of  the  river,  and  when  near 
Seneca  he  was  told  by  a  boatman  that  an  empty  boat 
with  oars  had  been  seen  floating  down  stream,  but 
had  not  been  caught  by  the  boatman  because  the  latter 


was  afraid  it  contained  a  dead  man.  Continuing  his 
search,  the  farmer  soon  found  his  boat  and  hanging 
over  the  stern  was  the  bait  bucket,  with  the  bait  all 
in  good  shape  and  none  the  worse  for  the  five-mile  trip 
with  the  abandoned  boat.  Great  was  the  joy  of  the 
Doctor  when  he  returned  that  day  to  be  told  of  the 
success  of  the  farmer's  trip ;  and  the  laugh  was  on  the 
lawyer,  who  confessed  that  John  was,  for  his  age, 
the  most  polished  story-teller  he  had  ever  met  with." 


97 


It's  Not  a  Fish  Story  I  Catch  'em  Everyway. 


NOT  INTENDED  TO  DECEIVE. 

The  late  Elphonzo  Young  an  accomplished  sports- 
man, related  for  the  edification  of  the  boys  this 
interesting  narrative: 

It  is  a  habit  with  some  thoughtless  persons  to  cast 
slurs  upon  fish,  and  to  ridicule  fishermen  and  fish 
stories,  and  some  even  go  so  far  as  to  question  the 
veracity  and  truthfulness  of  fish  stories  in  general.. 
Having  this  in  mind,  I  have  always  made  a  point  of 
adhering  strictly  to  the  truth  in  speaking  of  fish. 

Some  hold  that  it  is  cruel  to  catch  a  fish  upon  a 
hook,  and  assert  that  to  hook  a  fish  in  the  mouth 
gives  the  fish  great  pain,  but  I  am  convinced  that  the 
average  fish  does  not  suffer  as  much  from  being 
hooked  and  drawn  out  of  the  water  as  it  does  in 
thinking  of  the  lies  that  will  be  told  about  its  size 
and  weight  after  it  is  dead. 

Fish  as  a  general  thing  are  affectionate,  and  I 
mention  an  incident  that  came  under  my  personal 
observation  that  proves  to  me  that  they  are  grate- 
ful and  appreciate  kind  treatment. 

A  gentleman  in  New  York  State  had  a  large  and 
well-stocked  trout  pond,  and  his  little  daughter,  six 
years  old,  took  great  pleasure  in  feeding  the  fish. 
She  went  regularly  every  day  and  threw  the  food  into 
the  pond,  scattering  it  on  the  surface  of  the  water, 
and  took  great  delight  in  seeing  the  fish  jump  after 
it.,  sometimes  they  leaped  entirely  out  of  the  water, 
and  the  little  girl  would  clap  her  hands  and  shout 
in  childish  glee.  The  fish  got  to  know  her,  and  when 
she  ran  along  the  bank  and  called  them,  they  came 
to  the  edge  of  the  water  in  great  numbers,  and 

101 


wagged  their  tails  with  delight.    They  would  eat  from 
her  hand,  and  follow  her  all  around  the  pond. 

One  day  as  she  was  running  along  the  bank  she 
caught  her  foot  against  something  and  plunged  head- 
long into  the  water.  Instantly  the  fish  rushed  to  her 
rescue.  They  formed  a  solid  mass  under  her  and 
held  her  above  the  water  until  her  father  ar^ved  and  97 
rescued  her  from  her  perilous  position.  Her  life 
was  saved,  and  her  kindness  to  the  fish  was  re- 
warded." 


NO  GOOD  TO  CUSS. 

A  short  story  with  a  big  moral  for  Anglers  was 
delivered  to  us  by  my  late  friend,  Doctor  William  P. 
Young. 

Around  the  bend  of  the  deep  hole  near  the  boat- 
landing  of  the  Hampshire  Sportman's  Club,  on  the 
beautiful  South  branch  of  the  Potomac,  four  miles 
above  Romney,  West  Virginia,  half-a-dozen  natives 
of  the  neighborhood  watched  the  long  poles  to  which 
were  tied  their  toad-baited  lines.  The  patriarch  of 
the  party,  a  sturdy  six-foot  septusgenarian,  wearing 
a  long  white  goatee  of  the  well  known  "Uncle  Sam" 
pattern,  with  pole  stuck  in  the  soil,  squatted,  and 
chawed,  and  watched. 

Aroused  suddenly  by  "a  big  bite,"  he  grabbed  the 
fifteen  foot  pole  (not  an  inch  less),  that  was  bent 
almost  to  the  surface  of  the  stream,  and  gave  a  power- 
ful jerk.  As  a  big  bass  floundered  in  the  shallow 
water  near  the  shore,  and  broke  away,  we  listened 
from  our  point  of  vantage  in  a  boat  nearby,  for  the 
lurid  expletives  which  certain  (  ?)  city  folks  indulge 
on  such  occasions.  Without  exhibiting  the  least 

102 


excitement,  he  exclaimed,  in  a  deep,  drawling  tone, 
"That  must  'a  bin  a  fi-pounder!;"  and  called  to  a 
boy,  "Aw — aw  Jim !  Bring  me  another  toad." 

Meeting  him  the  next  day,  at  the  same  place,  we 
said ;  "You  didn't  let  out  a  single  cuss  word  yesterday, 
when  you  lost  that  big  bass."  With  a  grim  smile  he 
replied:  "That  wouldn't  'a  done  no  good." 


103 


Hamilton's  Short  Line. 


WHO  CAUGHT  THE  FISH. 

The  enthusiastic  Walter  S.  Harban,  was  relating 
some  of  his  remarkable  experiences,  and  said  that  a 
few  years  ago  in  company  with  several  other  gentle- 
men, after  breaking  Camp  on  the  Shennadoah,  near 
Bentonville,  Va.,  he  boated  down  the  river  as  far  as 
Harper's  Ferry,  West  Virginia,  making  the  trip  in 
three  days.  The  first  night  out  they  stopped  at  a  farm 
house  ten  miles  below  Riverton,  Virginia.  Upon 
approaching  the  shore  of  the  place,  the  water  being 
shallow  for  some  distance,  a  Common  Cur  Dog  was 
standing  well  out  in  the  stream.  As  he  paid  no 
attention  to  them,  nothing  was  thought  of  him  until 
when  leaving  the  boat  for  the  night,  the  dog  appeared 
and  had  with  him  a  wriggling  bass.  The  next  morn- 
ing while  sitting  on  the  porch  talking  to  the  pro- 
prietor, the  dog  appeared  on  the  front  lawn,  this  time 
carrying  in  his  mouth  a  fine  Black  Bass,  weighing 
not  less  than  two  pounds.  They  weie  then  reminded 
of  the  incident  the  evening  before  and  the  natural 
query  was,  where  in  the  deuce  he  got  them.  The  owner 
of  the  dog  informed  them  that  since  a  puppy,  when 
hungry,  he  would  go  to  the  river  several  hundred 
yards  away  and  catch  fish  and  eat  them,  that  it  was 
not  unusual  for  him  to  bring  in  much  larger  fish,  and 
upon  depriving  him  of  them  he  would  return  to  the 
river  and  catch  more.  They  were  also  informed  that 
a  well  known  Angler  of  Washington,  often  visited 
his  place,  and  as  this  same  Angler  has  reported  many 
large  catches  in  the  Shenandoah,  it  can  well  be  sur- 
mized who  caught  the  fish,  Angler  or  the  dog  ? 

107 


QUEER  CATCHES. 

Henry  Talbott  one  of  the  Inter  State  Commerce 
authorities  is  also  known  to  many  as  a  sportsman  of 
rare  ability,  not  only  with  rod  and  reel,  but  with 
pen  and  ink  said  to  my  boy : 

"A  modern  writer  on  angling  commenting  on  the 
stories  of  queer  catches  with  the  artificial  fly  is  dis- 
posed to  be  very  humorous  at  the  expense  of  the 
awkwardness  which  could  catch  a  haystack,  yet  it  is 
safe  to  say  if  the  author  never  caught  anything  on 
his  fly  but  the  trout,  his  experience  had  been  limited 
to  northern  rock  waters  and  probably  limited  too 
as  to  occasions. 

The  fly  on  wooden  shores  is  like  to  fasten  in  the 
back  cast  to  an  inaccessible  limb  and,  as  evidence  the 
occurance  is  common  enough,  there  is  a  patent  knife 
on  sale  to  be  attached  to  the  rod,  to  release  the 
tackle ;  from  a  canoe  in  like  waters  he  is  lucky  who 
never  fastens  to  a  cat  tail  or  ledge  far  behind  him. 
A  friend  walking  along  a  retaining  wall  trying  for  a 
bass  at  dusk  heard  a  yelp  behind  him  as  he  retrieved, 
and  found  he  had  caught  a  favorite  setter  in  the 
nose.  Birds  and  bats  are  occasionally  attracted  by 
small  flies  and  taken,  and  may  often  be  seen  to  start 
for  the  flying  lure. 

But  the  catches  in  front  are  occasionally  as  start- 
ling. The  dogfish  is  a  bottom  feeder,  yet  an  eight 
pounder  has  been  taken  in  shallow  water  with  a 
number  six  fly.  Cat  fish  are  bottom  feeders  as  well, 
but  a  comrade  enthusiastic  enough  to  fish  early  and 
late,  has  taken  not  only  cat  fish,  but  eels  upon  number 
twelve  flies. 

Perhaps  the  strangest  and  most  unlikely, — therefore 

108 


hardest  to  believe — is  the  statement  that  on  more  than 
one  occasion  the  common  river  mussel  has  closed  his 
shell  upon  an  intruding  fly  and  been  brought  to  land. 
Luckily  the  hooks  are  light  and  the  feathers  offer 
such  resistance  to  the  air  that  they  never  have 
momentum  enough  to  sink  the  barb  in  the  flesh  and  so 
one  rarely  heard  of  anglers  being  injured  with  the 
whipping  bait.  One  occasion  which  is  recalled  was 
where  a  friend  finding  his  hook  caught  on  a  reed 
in  front  gave  an  angry  yank,  and  the  line  being  short, 
the  spring  of  the  rod  was  sufficient  to  set  the  point 
of  the  hook  in  his  own  forehead.  In  his  rattled  haste 
to  release  it,  he  evidently  pulled  the  hook  the  wrong 
way  and  buried  the  barb,  which  had  to  be  cut  out. 
In  ten  years  fishing  this  is  the  only  remembered 
experience  of  blood  drawn  with  the  fly. 


A  GOOD  STORY. 

This  is  an  Angler's  predicament  said  I.  Walter 
Sharp : — 

Every  "Brother  of  the  Angle"  has,  during  his 
career,  a  few  more  or  less  startling  experiences  of 
which  the  world  never  hears,  and  which  if  written  up, 
would  furnish  much  interesting  reading,  not  alone 
to  the  fraternity,  but  to  the  public  at  large.  Usually 
the  Angler  is  the  hero  of  his  story,  but  in  the  follow- 
ing incident  he  came  out  a  very  slow  second, 
humiliated,  bleeding,  sore,  and  beaten. 

My  old  Indian  friend  and  fellow-camper,  Machel, 
and  If  were  spending  one  of  our  annual  outings  in  the 
Cascade  Mountains  of  Oregon,  on  the  head/waters  of 
the  wild  and  turbulent  Clackamas  River,  where  thou- 
sands of  Salmon  breed  yearly,  and  where  mountain 

109 


trout  of  several  varieties  fairly  swarm ;  in  a  region  fifty 
miles  from  a  wagon  road  and  where  I  never  saw  sight 
of  other  white  men.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  river 
was  full  of  trout  there  were  times  when  they  would  not 
rise,  so  we  often  wanted  trout  when  we  could  not 
get  them.  Therefore  fishing  did  not  become  monot- 
onous, as  we  all  know  that,  the  uncertainty  is  one 
of  the  greatest  charms  of  the  sport. 

So  it  was  on  the  occasion  of  which  I  am  about  to 
relate.  The  trout  had  not  been  rising  through  the 
day,  and  I  spent  several  hours  endeavoring  to  get 
trout  enough  for  supper  and  the  following  breakfast. 
It  was  growing  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  sun 
had  disappeared  behind  a  lofty  spur  of  mountains. 
The  "salmon  flies"  were  beginning  to  feel  the  chill 
of  the  evening  and  were  helplessly  dipping  down  on 
the  rapid  surface  of  the  water.  This  proved  too  much 
for  the  sly  old  trout  and  they  began  to  rise.  I  had 
Creeled  a  half  dozen  or  so  nice  ones,  and  feeling 
comfortably  about  having  secured  the  necessary  "pro- 
vender" was  taking  chances  on  losing  a  good  one 
which  I  had  hooked,  and  who  was  making  a  very 
determined  fight  for  liberty.  The  water  in  which  I 
was  standing  was  nearly  waist  deep  and  swift,  while 
a  few  steps  below  was  a  very  deep  pool,  and  it  was 
in  th£pwater  that  my  fish  was  doing  his  acrobatic 
stunt,  some  twenty-five  yards  from  where  I  stood. 
So  suddenly  that  I  was  dazed  for  a  moment,  a  great 
eagle  swooped  down  like  a  flash  and  seized  my  captive 
just  after  he  had  made  one  of  those  beautiful  breaks, 
so  characteristic  of  his  species.  Seeming  entirely 
unmindful  of  my  presence,  or  the  strain  on  the  line, 
he  settled  upon  a  big  rock  which  reared  up  out 
of  the  river.  My  efforts  to  pull  the  fish  away  from 

no 


him  were  unavailing  against  those  great  talons  which 
held  it.  The  bird  was  about  to  eat  his  supper  at 
once,  but  was  suddenly  arrested,  as,  with  a  terrible 
scream,  another  eagle  shot  out  of  the  sky  and  attempted 
to  take  it  from  him.  The  two  birds  immediately 

/began  to  "mix  things,"  and  an  awful  battle  was  on. 
The  breeze  earned  away  myriads  of  downy  feathers 
as  they  were  torn  from  their  roots;  the  air  was  rent 
with  piercing  screams;  first  one  bird  was  down  and 
then  the  other.  I  could  feel  the  constant  tugging  at 
the  line,  but  could  not  get  it  clear.  The  fight  lasted 
several  minutes,  and  then  one  of  the  huge  birds 
suddenly  left  the  rock,  carrying  the  trout  with  it. 
The  other  rose  to  follow,  but  during  the  struggle  the 
hook  had  fastened  to  one  of  its  feet.  Here  was  a 
novelty  indeed.  I  would  have  willingly  released  him, 
but  of  course  was  entirely  helpless  in  the  matter. 
You  may  know  that  fishing  lines  were  scarce  in  that 
particular  locality,  and  I  realized  the  danger  of  losing 
my  best  one.  The  strain  on  the  line,  as  well  as  on  my 
nerves,  was  something  only  to  be  realized  by  a  like 
experience.  The  eagle's  angry  cries  tore  the  air 
wide  open.  The  rod  bent  and  recovered  as  from 
time  to  time  the  pressure  varied.  The  bird  struggled 
in  the  air  for  some  time  and  then  settled  back  on  the 
rock  from  which  he  had  not  at  any  time  gotten ^away. 
I  want  to  say  here  that  a  fish  don't  put  up  any  kind 
of  a  fight  at  all  as  compared  with  a  big  eagle.  This 

old  fallow  then  triea  to  free  hinwelf  from  his 
i   earnestly  nopeu  nc  uugm.  ^.     ^   .. 

pause  at  this  point  and  consider  the  feelings  of  the 
man  at  the  rod  end  of  the  line  he  will  realize  that  the 
eagle  was  not  the  only  fellow  who  was  in  a  pickle. 
I  did  not  want  to  break  the  line,  nor  could  I  reach 

ill 


trout  of  several  varieties  fairly  swarm  ;  in  a  region  fifty 
miles  from  a  wagon  road  and  where  I  never  saw  sight 
of  other  white  men.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  river 
was  full  of  trout  there  were  times  when  they  would  not 
rise,  so  we  often  wanted  trout  when  we  could  not 
get  them.  Therefore  fishing  did  not  become  monot- 
onous, as  we  all  know  that  the  uncertainty  is  one 
of  the  greatest  charms  of  the  sport. 

So  it  was  on  the  occasion  of  which  I  am  about  to 
relate.  The  trout  had  not  been  rising  through  the 
day,  and  I  spent  several  hours  endeavoring  to  get 
trout  enough  for  supper  and  the  following  breakfast. 
It  was  growing  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  sun 
had  disappeared  behind  a  lofty  spur  of  mountains. 
The  "salmon  flies"  were  beginning  to  feel  the  chill 
of  the  evening  and  were  helplessly  dipping  down  on 
the  rapid  surface  of  the  water.  This  proved  too  much 
for  the  sly  old  trout  and  they  began  to  rise.  I  had 
Creeled  a  half  dozen  or  so  nice  ones,  and  feeling 
comfortably  about  having  secured  the  necessary  "pro- 
vender" was  taking  chances  on  losing  a  good  one 
which  I  had  hooked,  and  who  was  making  a  very 
determined  fight  for  liberty.  The  water  in  which  I 
was  standing  was  nearly  waist  deep  and  swift,  while 
a  few  steps  below  was  a  very  deep  pool,  and  it  was 
in  th^pwater  that  my  fish  was  doing  his  acrobatic 
stunt,  some  twenty-five  yards  from  where  I  stood. 
So  s  '  [  '  -~— 

eagl , 

just  after  he  had  made  one  of  those  beautiful  breaks, 
so  characteristic  of  his  species.  Seeming  entirely 
unmindful  of  my  presence,  or  the  strain  on  the  line, 
he  settled  upon  a  big  rock  which  reared  up  out 
of  the  river.  My  efforts  to  pull  the  fish  away  from 

no 


him  were  unavailing  against  those  great  talons  which 
held  it.  The  bird  was  about  to  eat  his  supper  at 
once,  but  was  suddenly  arrested,  as,  with  a  terrible 
scream,  another  eagle  shot  out  of  the  sky  and  attempted 
to  take  it  from  him.  The  two  birds  immediately 

/began  to  "mix  things,"  and  an  awful  battle  was  on. 
The  breeze  caried  away  myriads  of  downy  feathers 
as  they  were  torn  from  their  roots;  the  air  was  rent 
with  piercing  screams ;  first  one  bird  was  down  and 
then  the  other.  I  could  feel  the  constant  tugging  at 
the  line,  but  could  not  get  it  clear.  The  fight  lasted 
several  minutes,  and  then  one  of  the  huge  birds 
suddenly  left  the  rock,  carrying  the  trout  with  it. 
The  other  rose  to  follow,  but  during  the  struggle  the 
hook  had  fastened  to  one  of  its  feet.  Here  was  a 
novelty  indeed.  I  would  have  willingly  released  him, 
but  of  course  was  entirely  helpless  in  the  matter. 
You  may  know  that  fishing  lines  were  scarce  in  that 
particular  locality,  and  I  realized  the  danger  of  losing 
my  best  one.  The  strain  on  the  line,  as  well  as  on  my 
nerves,  was  something  only  to  be  realized  by  a  like 
experience.  The  eagle's  angry  cries  tore  the  air 
wide  open.  The  rod  bent  and  recovered  as  from 
time  to  time  the  pressure  varied.  The  bird  struggled 
in  the  air  for  some  time  and  then  settled  back  on  the 
rock  from  which  he  had  not  at  any  time  gotten ^away. 
I  want  to  say  here  that  a  fish  don't  put  up  any  kind 
of  a  fight  at  all  as  compared  with  a  big  eagle.  This 
^  was  fishing  predicament  by  pecking  at  the  hook,  which 
I  earnestly  hoped  he  might  do.  If  the  reader  will 
pause  at  this  point  and  consider  the  feelings  of  the 
man  at  the  rod  end  of  the  line  he  will  realize  that  the 
eagle  was  not  the  only  fellow  who  was  in  a  pickle. 
I  did  not  want  to  break  the  line,  nor  could  I  reach 

ill 


ft. 


shore  without  doing1  so,  for  the  river  was  wide  and  the 
line  not  long  enough  to  permit  it.  As  I  stood  braced 
against  the  current  on  that  treacherous  bottom,  with 
its  glass-smoothed- bowlders,  considering  the  situation, 
my  bird  once  again  rose  into  the  air.  It  struggled 
a  few  moments,  and  then  seeming  to  realize  that  I 
was  responsible  for  its  plight,  with  a  terrorizing 
screech  it  darted  straight  at  me.  I  realized  it  meant 
to  attack,  and  tried  to  dodge  the  blow,  and  in  doing 
so  lost  my  footing  and  fell,  but  not  in  time  to  escape 
the  claw  which  reached  for  me.  It  caught  my  flannel 
shirt  at  the  shoulder,  curing  the  flesh  badly.  I  had 
lost  my  hold  on  the  rod,  arid  the  current  had  carried 
us  into  deep  water.  I  tried  to  sink,  but  old  eagle 
would  not  have  it  so,  and  savagely  pecked  at  my 
head,  scoring  blood  at  every  blow.  I  succeeded  in 
getting  hold  of  its  neck  once,  but  those  awful  claws 
of  its  "off"  foot  embedded  themselves  into  my  hand 
so  that  I  gladly  let  go.  There  was  no  telling  how  this 
strange  battle  would  have  ended  had  not  Machel, 
hearing  the  unusual  racket,  come  to  the  rescue.  He 
seized  a  stick  and  waded  out  on  the  lower  riffle,  toward 
which  we  were  rapidly  drifting,  and  as  he  approached 
the  bird  saw  him  and  flew  off  as  suddenly  as  he  had 
attacked,  much  to  my  relief.  He  settled  on  a 
limb  overhanging  the  water  and  surveyed  the 
scene.  He  then  began  pecking  at  his  foot, 
and  then  soared  away.  The  line  had  wrapped  a 
branch  and  he  had  torn  the  hook  free.  The  rod,  reel 
and  line  were  recovered  intact,  except  the  leader, 
which  still  hangs  from  the  branch.  My^reel  was 
firmly  strapped  to  me,  so  that  I  lost  neither  it  nor 
the  contents.  Machel  the  "Good  Samaritan"  bathed 
my  wounds,  which  soon  healed,  but  he  was  not  over- 

112 


generous  in  his  banterings,  and  has  many  times  since 
laughingly  prodded  me  in  his  good-natured  way  about 
having  saved  me  from  the  eagle." 

STIPES'  DOG. 

There  lived  in  the  ancient  and  historical  town  of 
Harpers  Ferry  a  Mr.  Stipes,  who  caught  more  fish 
and  knew  more  men  who  could  and  who  could  not 
fish  than  any  other  boatman  in  the  country.  Mr. 
Stipes  related  to  the  writer  an  incident  which  he 
vouched  for  as  correct,  but  be  that  as  it  may,  it  is 
interesting.  He  said  that  he  owned  a  very  nice  little 
water  dog,  and  on  one  occasion  while  trying  his  luck 
in  the  Shenandoah,  it  occurred  to  him  that  a  dog 
might  be  made  to  fish.  Fastening  a  short  line,  with 
sinker  and  bait,  to  the  dog's  tail,  he  baited  the  hook, 
tossed  a  stick  into  the  middle  of  the  stream,  and  the 
dog  true  to  his  nature,  swam  out  for  the  floating 
stick.  It  was  then  a  large  fish  grabbed  the  bait 
which  was  floating  suspended  from  the  dog's  appen- 
dage, and  the  animal  successfully  swam  shore  and 
landed  a  two  pound  bass.  The  dog,  he  said,  was 
drowned  afterwards  while  making  a  similar  experi- 
ment. 

THERE  WAS  NO  HOLE. 

My  son  began  to  doubt  the  value  of  fish  stories 
as  they  grew  more  doubtful,  but  his  confidence  was 
most  forcibly  shaken  after  a  friend  had  related  the 
incidents  attending  the  catching  of  a  tarpon  in 
Florida,  which  he  said  weighed  256  pounds.  "Yes," 
said  the  relater,  "All  of  my  many  listeners  on  the 
hotel  plaza  scouted  the  truth  of  my  statement  on 
the  day  of  the  catch,  and  strange  to  say  would  have 
no  faith  in  me  whatever,  when  I  invited  them  down 


to  the  river  to  see  the  large  hole  that  was  left  in 
the  water  by  the  monster  fish  after  I  had  pulled  him 
out." 

IT   IS   TRUE. 

Whenever  the  waters  that  contribute  the  fish  life 
exist  there  may  also  be  found  colonies  of  fishermen 
who  delight  in  displaying  their  accomplishments.  The 
individuals  who  comprise  them  take  pride  in  contesting 
for  honors  by  displaying  their  skill  with  rod  and  reel 
and  what  they  accomplish  is  always  accepted  without 
much  discussion ;  the  fellow  who  is  defeated  finding 
satisfaction  in  knowing  that  another  opportunity  will 
offer  to  undo  his  rival.  There  is  of  record,  a 
feat  performed  by  that  earnest  disciple  Walter  S. 
Harban  of  Washington;  which  will  long  stand  as  a 
leading  accomplishment  and  it  cannot  be  fully  disputed 
because  the  well  known  guide  John  Leipold  was  an 
unexpected  witness  to  the  remarkable  exploit.  The 
Doctor  was  casting  for  small-mouth  black  bass  with 
that  beauty  and  touch  which  characterizes  his  work, 
when  he  hooked  on  he  supposed  a  tremendous  fish. 
Allowing  ample  play  for  security  and  sport,  reeling 
slowly  and  playing  first  to  right  and  then  to  left,  he 
finally  brought  to  mouth  of  the  landing  net  not  one, 
but  two  good  sized  fish,  one  of  which  was  hooked  to 
the  two  naught  sproat  hook  and  the  other  to  the 
swivel  hook  from  which  his  leader  was  suspended. 
This  was  an  occasion  when  the  experienced  bass  artist 
doubted  at  once  the  wonderful  luck  that  had  come 
/  to  him.  It  was  nevertheless  a  fact  and  has  afforded 
all  his  fearers  to  whom  he  relates  the  fact  of  genuine 
interest.  While  doubt  is  for  a  moment  in  evidence 
on  the  part  of  the  listening  ones,  the  dignified  force 
with  which  the  affair  is  always  related  dispels  all 
doubt  as  to  the  genuineness  of  the  catch. 

114 


Been   A   Fisherman   All    My   Life— Loeb. 


THE   LITTLE   BROWN   BULL. 

The  magnificent  dining  hall  of  the  Blue  Ridge  Club, 
wherein  song  and  story  have  entertained  some  of  the 
most  distinguished  Americans,  including  Joseph 
Cannon,  of  Illinois,  Nathan  B.  Scott  of  West  Virginia, 
the  members  of  the  celebrated  Gridiron  Club  and 
others,  has  hanging  on  its  walls  pictures  and  speci- 
mens from  the  waters,  fields  and  woods,  numbering 
among  them,  a  rich  and  attractive  deer  hide,  in  which 
is  penciled  in  superb  large  lettering,  the  following 
lines,  as  musically  and  frequently  rendered  by  the 
owner,  the  late  Col.  Daniel  Ransdell: 

Oh  the  little  brown  bull 

Came  down  from  the  mountains, 

Shang,  rango,  whango,  whey, 
And  as  he  was  feeling  salutations, 
Chased  old  Pratt  a  mile  by  gracious, 
Licked  old  shep  and  two  dog  Towsers, 
Then  marched  back  home  with  Old 
Pratt's  Trousers, 

Whango,  Whey. 


117 


We  Are  Wardens  at  the  Club. 


LEST  WE  FORGET. 

My  son,  you  have  been   an   attentive  listener  and 
become  a  skilled  practitioner  in  the  art  of  bass  fishing. 
You  have  no  doubt  observed  that  it  is  not  necessary 
to  belong  to  a  fishing  club  in  order  to  be  a  successful 
fisherman,  and,  it  is  true  that  all  members  of  fishing 
clubs  do  not  fish.     Some  of  them  do  not  care,  others 
are   short   in   patience,   many   don't   know   how;  and 
fishing  clubs  possess  other  winning  attractions  which 
too  often  spoil  the  making  of  a  rod  and  and  reel  expert. 
The  sportsman  out  and  out  makes  a  hammock  in  the 
forest  or   the  near-by  shore  his  bed,  and  the  blue 
sky  his  covering.     He  cooks  by  the  camp  fire  and 
washes  his  own  utensils.  Enthusiasts  of  this  school  are 
not    so    numerous    in    these    days    as    formerly,    but 
Vandergrift,  who  has  duck  hunted  all  the  fields  of  Ohio 
and,  who  visits  many  game  and  fish  sections  with  regu- 
larity, enjoys  high  rank  in  this  class.  With  the  gunning 
season  closed,  the  St.  Lawrence  River  and  Canadian 
Lakes  open  up  to  him  glorious  opportunities  for  fish- 
ing, his  captures  ranging  from  black  bass  to  musca.  Mr. 
S.  H.  Vandergrift,  who  has  his  home  in  Washington, 
goes  beyond  indulgence  with  gun  and  rod  for  pleasure, 
adding  to  it  by  seriously  and  energetically  doing  those 
commendable  things  which  make  for  the  protection 
of  game  and  fish  in  season. 

There  is  another  prominent  man  in  the  world's 
affairs,  William  Loeb,  Jr.,  who  was  private  Secretary 
to  President  Roosevelt  and  who  would  not  serve  in  the 
same  capacity  after  his  chief  quit  the  White  House. 
"Billy"  Loeb  as  he  was  called  in  early  New  York 
state  days,  used  to  fish  in  the  big  lakes,  with  over  a 
hundred  feet  of  line  and  dragging  a  pound  sinker 
around  on  the  bottom.  These  boyhood  experiences 

121 


he  did  not  forget  nor  did  the  habit  quit  him,  for,  he 
has  whipped  all  the  fine  streams  of  Colorado,  Wyom- 
ing, Montana  and  Minnesota.  Two  trout  at  a  time  was  a 
continued  occurence,  but  when  he  hooked  a  two  pound 
lake  trout  in  the  side  while  out  on  a  lake  in  Minnesota, 
which  required  two  hours  drudgery  on  the  part  ot 
himself  and  boatsman  to  bring  in  and  discover,  he  said, 
he  learned  a  great  deal  about  the  weight  of  fish  fooling 
people  at  times. 

Howard  Brooks  a  capital  newspaper  youth  who  can 
write  fish  stories  better  than  he  can  tell  them  and  who 
can  excel  in  cooking  and  eating  fish,  persists  in 
using  a  sixty  foot  hand  line  in  catching  Potomac 
perch.  He  does  not  believe  in  new  methods  nor 
artificial  bait,  but,  my  son  you  must  not  expect  every 
fisherman  to  take  your  advice,  because  there  are  many 
of  them  who  would  rather  give  it,  and,  John  C. 
Walker,  said,  "yes  sir,  and  they  always  want  to  tell 
you  how  to  catch  the  fish  when  you're  got  him  on  the 
hook  and  the  advice  scares  him  off,  and  for  that  reason, 
while  I've  caught  bass,  blue  fish,  cat  fish  and  other 
species,  I  don't  take  much  interest  in  fishing !" 

My  friend  Albert  S.  Muhlhausen  of  the  DuPont 
Powder  Company,  in  Delaware,  is  a  member  of  the 
George  Washington  Bass  Fishing  Club  in  Wilmington, 
and,  will  not  tell  his  associates  any  of  the  hundred  of 
piscatorial  anecdotes  he  has  treasured,  because  as  he 
puts  it,  "I  cannot  tell  a  lie,"  but  he  did  say : 

"I  have  six  dogs  and  six  cats, 

All  I  could  wish, 
And  every  last  one  of  them, 

I've  taught  how  to  fish." 


122 


"You  probably  won't  believe  me,"  began  Muhl- 
hausen  when  he  was  interupted  by  a  sepulchral  voice, 
"You've  SAID  something!" 

"It's  a  fact  just  the  same,  and  if  the  eight  black 
bass  were  alive  I  could  prove  it  by  exhibiting  them. 
It  was  this  way,  I  was  spending  the  summer  up  in  New 
York  State, " 

"What  place?"  came  the  interruption. 

"Never  mind  the  place,  it  isn't  on  the  map.  You 
have  to  go  in  by  stage  and  I  forget  the  name  anyway. 
It's  a  queer  Indian  name,  all  full  of  g's  and  c's.  You 
couldn't  pronounce  it  if  I  spelled  it  for  you.  Well, 
anyway,  I  took  a  small  cottage  up  on  the  top  of  a 
hill  opposite  a  big  estate  where  an  ugly  cuss  lived 
who  had  a  lake  on  his  place,  and  this  lake  was  full  of 
black  bass,  but  this  chap  was  so  blamed  selfish  he 
wouldn't  let  anybody  fish  there  but  just  himself.  Queer 
how  selfish  some  people  are. 

"Well,  I  decided  I  was  going  to  get  some  of  those 
bass.  It  took  me  a  long  time  to  figure  it  out,  but  I 
finally  did  it.  This  lake  was  in  a  little  valley  just  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  opposite  my  front  porch,  may~be 
about  half  a  mile  away.  I  went  to  work  and  in  two 
days  I  had  made  one  of  those  Blue  Hill  box  kites 
such  as  Arthur  Rotch  used  to  fly  when  he  was  making 
tests  of  air  curents  up  at  Blue  Hill  Massachusetts. 
Rotch  is  dead  now  or  I'd  ask  him  to  tell  you  the 
shape  of  the  kite.  Anyway,  I  built  the  kite,  and 
underneath  it  I  rigged  a  little  pulley  and  ran  through 
this  pulley  another  string,  separate  from  the  one 
controlling  the  kite.  On  the  end  of  it  I  fastened  a 
bass  hook  with  a  sinker  heavy  enough  to  pull  the 
string  down  to  the  water.  Would  you  believe  me, — " 


123 


Norment  and  a  Group  of  Fisherman. 


"We  would  NOT!"  shouted  a  man  in  the  back  of 
the  room. 

"Jealous,"  said  Muhlhausen. 

"Would  you  believe  me,  I  baited  that  hook  with  a 


minnow," 


"Whereja  get  the  minnow?"  came  the  interruption. 

"Out  of  a  pail,"  said  Muhlhausen.  Then  he  con- 
tinued, "I  sat  on  the  front  porch  and  flew  that  kite 
out  over  the  lake,  let  go  the  string  and  dropped  the 
minnow  right  over  in  the  middle  of  the  lake.  I  bet 
you  the  bass  that  jumped  for  the  bait  went  up  in  the 
air  nearly  twenty  feet  and  grabbed  the  minnow,  hook 
and  all.  I  hauled  in  the  kite  and  that  bass  with  it, 
and  he  weighed  six  pounds.  He  was  THAT  long. 
I  flew  the  kite  out  six  times  and  each  time  I  brought 
in  a  bass.  I  figured  I  had  about  enough  for  a  good 
mess,  for  each  fish  weighed  from  four  to  eight  pounds. 
1  tried  again,  and  that  time  I  had  a  bass  that  must 
have  weighed  between  ten  and  eleven  pounds,  but 
by  this  time  the  ugly  cuss  who  owned  the  lake  saw 
what  I  was  doing.  He  came  out  with  a  rifle,  and 
just  as  I  got  the  bass  up  over  his  pasture  he  shot 
and  cut  the  string  which  carried  the  bass.  It  fell  on 
dry  land  and  he  went  over  and  picked  it  up.  He 
swung  it  around  and  put  his  thumb  up  to  his  nose 
and  wiggled  his  fingers  at  me.  It's  a  pretty  blamed 
mean  man  that  will  steal  a  chap's  fish  that  way  isn't 
it?" 

"How  much  did  that  last  bass  weigh?"  said  the 
interrupter. 

"Somewhere  between  eighteen  and  twenty  pounds," 
said  Muhlhausen. 

"How  large  was  the  box  kite?"  some  on  asked. 
"I  don't  remember,"  said  Muhlhausen. 

127 


"Well,  you've  got  a  polka  dot  memory  all  right" 
was  the  rejoinder. 

"How's  that?"  said  Muhlhausen. 

"Good  in  spots"  was  the  answer. 

John  F.  Storm  of  St.  Louis  is  Secretary  of  the 
famous  Jim  Lewis  Fishing  and  Sporting  Club,  an 
organization  of  National  repute,  that  holds  an  annual 
meeting  at  Petoskey,  where  Judges,  Doctors,  Lawyers, 
Bankers,  Senators  and  Representatives  and  plain  every 
day  gentlemen  gather  to  fish,  dine  and  sing.  The 
author  in'  grateful  to  the  Secretary  for  attention  given 
by  the  Globe-Democrat  at  his  suggestion  and  as 
follows : 

Sylvester's  New  Poem  on  Jim  Lewis  Club. 

Maj.  Richard  Sylvester,  of  Washington,  D.  C,  who 
years  ago  was  a  St.  Louis  newspaper  man,  has  burst 
into  song  again.  It  was  Sylvester,  by  the  way,  who 
composed  the  famous  fish  poem,  "De  Clickin'  of  the 
Reel,"  and  it  is  fishing  that  has  inspired  his  muse  this 
time.  The  latest  product  of  his  divine  afflatus  is 
entitled  "Storm  at  Petoskey,"  and  is  dedicated  to  the 
Jim  Lewis  Fishing  and  Sporting  Club  of  which  Maj. 
Sylvester  is  official  punster.  Here  it  is: 

Hear  that  storm  you  know  so  well ! 

It  scatters  like  the  shot  and  shell ! 

It  blows  around  here  every  year, 

And  brings  the  gathering  luck  and  cheer. 

It  blows  the  hookworm  on  the  line, 

And  makes  one's  eyeballs  brightly  shine. 

When  it  comes  the  reel  must  run ; 

Then  the  bass  has  lots  of  fun. 

Look  to  the  left,  then  to  the  right, 

128 


Now  it's  up,  then  out  of  sight. 

Dips  that  net  beneath  the  wave, 

That  mighty  fish  you've  got  to  save. 

For  the  Lewis  Club  has  come  once  more, 

Camping  on  Petoskey's  shore. 

That's  the  story  you  often  read, 

Now  the  storm  has  gone  away, 

To  come  again  some  other  day. 

Nothing  but  the  truth  it  tells, 

As  the  membership  it  swells, 

Again  the  fish  are  fancy  free, 

Alone  in  glory,  as  they  ought  to  be. 


129 


Bready  of  the  Dam. 


The  Blue  Ridge  Rod  and  Gun  Club. 

This  organization  was  incorporated  under  the  laws 
of  Virginia  and  its  attractiveness  is  shown  in  some  of 
the  illustrations,  my  son,  but  there  are  some  features 
that  the  camera  did  not  get.  Located  in  a  prohibition 
state,  springs  from  the  high  capped  Blue  Ridge 
Mountains,  quench  the  thirsty — while  the  Potomac 
washes  the  mountain  base. 

The  distinguished  membership  limited  to  fifty  stal- 
wart Isaac  Waltons  or  Daniel  Boones,  is  given  in  these 
closing  pages — and — the  names  of  those  who  are 
expert  with  rod  and  gun,  are  marked  with  an  asterisk. 


*Mr.  Milton  E.  Ailes 
*Dr.  George  N.  Acker 
*Mr.  Alexander  Britton 
*Mr.  Conrad  Becker 
*Mr.  Evans  Browne 
*Mr.  Charles  E.  Berry 
*Mr.  John  H.  Clapp 
*Mr.  John  M.  Culp 
*Mr.  Joseph  Cranford 
*Mr.  Henry  D.  Crampton 
*Mr.  G.  Thomas  Dunlop 
*Mr.  J.  Maury  Dove 
*Mr.  Daniel  Eraser 
*Mr.  Thomas  M.  Gale 
*Mr.  Herbert  A.  Gill 
*Mr.  Frank  C.  Henry 
*Mr.  James  F.  Hood 
*Mr.  Charles  E.  Hood 
*Mr.  William  F.  Ham 
*Mr.  James  H.  Hayden 


*Mr.  Phelan  C.  Hawn 
*Dr.  Walter  S.  Harban 
*Mr.  Frank  J.  Hogan 
*Mr.  Philander  Johnson 
*Mr.  William  C.  Johnson 
*Mr.  Rudolph  Kauffmann 
*Mr.  Victor   KaupfFmann 
*Mr.  Charles   Linkins 
*Dr.  T.  N.  McLaughlin 
*Mr.  James  D.  Maher 
*Mr.  H.  C.  McKenney 
*Mr.  E.  S.  Marlow 
*Mr.  William  H.  Moses 
*Mr.  Harry  C.  Moses 
*Mr.  Benjamin  S.  Minor 
*Mr.  William  A.  Mearns 
*Mr.  Clarence  F.  Norment 
*Mr.  Harry  Norment 
*Mr.  Wm.  R.  Stansbury 
*Mr.  J.  Henry  Small 


133 


*Col.  Richard  D.   Simms  *Mr.  Irving  Williamson 

*Mr.  Ewd.  J.  Stellwagen  *Mr.  Charles  P.  Williams 

*Mr.  Charles  A.  Safer  *Mr.  Allan  E.  Walker 

*Mr.  Theobald  J.  Talty  *Mr.  Henry  L.  West 

*Mr.  Benjamin  Woodruff  *Mr.  E.  J.  Walsh 


'A  DREAMIN'. 

I  jes'  set  here  a  dreamin' — 

A-dreamin'  every  day, 
Of  the  sunshine  that's  a-gleamin' — 

On  the  rivers — fur  away. 

An'  I  kinder  fall  to  wishin' 
I  was  where  the  waters  swish; 

Per  if  the  Lord  made  fishin', 
Why — a  feller  ought  to  fish ! 

While  I'm  studyin,'  or  a-writin,' 
In  the  dusty,  rusty  town, 

I  kin  feel  the  fish  a-bitin' — 
See  the  cork  a-goin  down! 

An'  the  sunshine  seems  a-tanglin' 
Of  the  shadows  cool  an'  sweet; 

With  the  honeysuckles  danglin,' 
An'  the  lilies  at  my  feet. 

So  I  nod,  an'  fall  to  wishin' 
I  was  where  the  waters  swish; 

Fer  if  the  Lord  made  fishin', 
Why — a  feller  orter  fish ! 

— Frank  L.  Stanton. 

134 


A  CONTRIBUTION. 

In  the  year  of  Our  Lord  Nineteen  Hundred,  a  lover 
of  Sir  Izaak  Walton,  joined  the  Blue  Ridge  Rod  and 
Gun  Club.  He  had  heard  so  much  of  one  Walter 
Harban,  of  his  wonderful  bass  fishing,  and  of  his 
wonderful  catches,  and  how,  when  he  got  out  of  bait, 
he  would  send  his  dog  into  the  river  to  catch  bass,  he 
determined  to  become  a  regular  fisherman  and  pur- 
chased a  complete  outfit,  engaged  a  boat  and  boatman, 
and  started  out.  Having  heard  so  much  about  these 
wonderful,  wily  fish;  how  strong  and  sporty  they 
were  he  thought  it  advisable  to  get  a  rather  strong 
rod  and  line.  The  day  was  fine,  water  perfect,  bait 
good,  and  he  had  a  competent  and  experienced  boat- 
man, by  the  name  of  one  Riley,  "one  of  the  finest 
fisherman  that  ever  came  down  the  pike."  Mr.  Riley 
could  not  tell  our  subject  anything  about  fishing. 
Phelan  put  on  a  "mad-torn",  and  also  a  rather  "hefty" 
sinker,  (only  about  four  ounces  of  best  lead),  and  then 
began  to  cast.  Things  didn't  run  very  smoothly  at 
first ;  line  would  "back-lash" ;  couldn't  get  bait  out  far 
enough,  but  by  perseverance  and  after  a  "good  pull" 
at  some  of  the  finest  Braddock  Spring  Water, 
he  got  up  nerve  and  started  again.  The  rest 
of  the  story  as  told  by  Phelan  was  as  follows: 
I  noticed  my  friend,  Mr.  Riley,  was  getting 
nervous  and  would  duck  and  dodge  every  time  I  made 
a  cast.  It  looked  to  me  like  he  would  prefer  taking  a 
swim,  but  nothing  daunted  me,  so  I  got  ready  and 
gathered  all  my  strength  gave  one  mighty  swing  (with 
both  hands)  and  I  want  to  tell  you,  that  certainly  was 
some  cast,  for  our  friend,  Mr.  Riley,  not  being  a  good 
dodger  or  prize-fighter,  missed  dodging  that  "hefty" 


Bear,   Deer,   Turkey   and   Bass. 


four  ounce  sinker.  I  soaked  Mr.  Riley  with  that  sinker 
right  in  the  forehead ;  between  his  two  "headlights" 
and  he  certainly  was  some  submarine  expert  (don't 
know  which  nationality)  for  he  came  up  right  under 
my  boat,  amid-ship  and  I  performed  a  most  beautiful 
"loop  the  loop",  but  the  most  wonderful  and  marvelous 
thing  happened ;  when  that  hefty  sinker  hit  Mr.  Riley 
it  was  severed  from  my  line,  recochotted  and  hit  a 
man  on  the  canal  at  Sandy  Hook  (clear  across  the 
river),  whom  I  am  told  thought  a  meteor  had  fallen 
from  Heaven,  but  the  mad-torn  remained  upon  my 
line  and  landing  in  a  beautiful  eddy  or  pool,  my  reel 
began  to  sing  and  with  one  strong  pull,  I  jerked  out 
of  the  river  the  most  beautiful  five  and  one-half  pound 
"small  mouth"  black  bass  you  ever  saw.  /  certainly 
did  jerk  that  bass.  I  landed  him  up  in  a  sycamore 
tree,  dangling  on  my  line  about  thirty  (30)  feet  up  in 
the  air,  so  being  a  "dead  shot"  from  Tennessee,  I  took 
out  my  revolver  and  cut  the  line  first  crack.  Mr. 
Riley  seemed  to  be  so  highly  amused  (  I  don't  know 
about  what)  that  he  fell  over-board  again  and  very 
nearly  drowned.  He  said,  "You  certainly  are  some 
fisherman,  but  if  you  don't  mind,  I'd  just  as  soon  as 
you'd  keep  off  that  there  sinker,  not  that  the  like's  o' 
me  would  presume  to  give  a  sportsman  like  you  any 
advice  about  fishing,  but  these  here  fish  up  here  in  these 
here  waters  don't  like  no  lead."  "Guess  they  have  been 
shot  at  so  much  they  aint  got  over  the  war  yet."  So 
I  put  on  a  fresh  mad-torn,  left  off  the  sinker,  and  by 
avoiding  a  back-lash  every  other  cast,  I  had  one  of 
the  best  days  sport  of  my  life.  "On  my  honor  as  a 
fisherman",  I  caught  that  day,  sixty-five  bass,  the 
smallest  weighing  three  and  one-half  pounds.  Of 


139 


course,  I  don't  mean  to  brag;  never  bragged  in  my 
life,  but  they  do  say  all  over  the  world  that  Colonel 
Hawn  of  Tennessee,  is  one  of  the  finest. 

Here's  hoping  I'll  soon  meet  you  and  some  of  the 
boys  at  our  beautiful  club ;  have  an  interview  with 
"Col.  Braddock",  embellished  with  some  of  Old  Vir- 
ginia's finest  grass,  and  gather  around  the  "Round 
Table",  where  I  will  tell  you  of  some  of  my  really 
wonderful  experiences  and  adventures  on  my  per- 
sonally conducted  tours  on  the  tributaries  of  the 
Potomac. 

Mr.  Rudolph  Kauffmann  being  jealous  of  my  repu- 
tation as  a  fisherman  and  wishing  to  get  in  "my  class" 
was  permitted  to  accompany  me  on  a  little  fishing  trip 
on  the  South  Branch.  He  can  tell  you  all  about  it. 
What  I  did  to  the  fish  and  Mr.  Kauffmann  "was  a 
plenty."  Rudolph  says,  "He  never  will  forget  it; 
is  was  marvelous."  Modesty  keeps  me  from  writing 
more. 


140 


FISHIN'  FEVER. 

There  is  one  disease  which  cannot  be  cured  by 
innoculation  and  that  is  "Fishing  Fever."  My 
piscatorial  friend  R.  R.  M.  Carpenter,  distinguished 
as  the  Director  of  the  Development  Department  of 
the  Du  Pont  de  Hours  Powder  Company  has  not 
introduced  his  product  to  the  catching  of  bass  and 
trout,  but  abandons  the  trade  to  partake  of  exceptional 
opportunities  at  week  ends,  to  capture  "prize  winners." 
He  is  an  apt  scholar  and  sings : 

"I  don't  go  often,  but  when  I  do, 
I  catch  the  big  ones, 
I  would  go  often,  if  I  knew, 
I'd  always  get  the  big  ones." 

No  one  of  the  Blue  Ridge  Club  people  has  done 
more  to  advance  the  interests  of  that  organization  that 
J.  Maury  Dove,  many  years  the  President.  He  didn't 
do  it  by  fishin',  but  by  keeping  house  and  having 
things  right  when  the  boys  came  in  from  a  days 
outing  on  the  river. 


141 


OUTDOOR  OUTFITS 

For  the  Whole  Family 

Fishing  Clothes,  Riding  Suits,  Toots,  Shoes, 
Leggins 

Outdoor  and  Porch  Sleeping  Suits,  Blankets, 
and  Bags 


Authorized  Agents  for 

Jaeger's  Sanitary  Woolen  Goods 

Burberry's  Weatherproof 

Garments 


CATALOGUES  CHEERFULLY  SENT 

Meyer's  Military  Shops 

1327  F  Street  N.  W. 

Washington.  D.  C. 

"Visit  our  big  Show  Shop  when  in  Washington" 


"The  Most  Interesting  Shop  in  Washington" 


Shaw  &  ffirown  Co. 

1114  F  STREET  N.  W- 

{ Next  Door  to  Columbia  Theatre) 


Nation  Wide  Reputation  for  their  Faithful  Expression 
of  the  Best  Art  in  Originals.     Diamonds, 
Jewelry,   Watches  and 
Kindred  Ware 


TELS.    3651-3692 


THIS  BOOK    4 
MAY  BE  HAD  FROM 
ALL  PRINCIPAL 
DEALERS 


